SEVEN 
SMILED 
AND  A 
FEW 
FIBvS 


THOMAS 

J 

VIVIAN 


SEVEN  SMILES  AND  A  FEW  FIBS 


SEVEN  SMILES 
AND  A  FEW  FIBS 

By   THOMAS    J.  VIVIAN 

Author    of  "  Luther    Strong,"    flffrith    Dnoey     at     Manila," 
tlFall   of  Santiago,"    etc. 


R.  F.  FENNO   &   COMPANY,  9  &  "  EAST 
SIXTEENTH   STREET,    NEW   YORK   CITY 


COPYRIGHT,  1900 

BY 

R.    F.    PENNO   &    COMPANY 


Stven   Smiln  »nd  *    F,w    fit,, 


TO 

WILLIAM  R.  HEARST. 
BY  T.  J.  V. 


20215FO 


THE  WAITER  SMILED. 


THE  WAITER  SMILED. 

"Donnezmoidoncd'p'titspoissonsp'rdeux!" 
Alphonse  sent  the  order  flying  down  the 
tube  and  then  trotted  quickly  back  to  No.  13, 
where  were  two  of  his  special  customers.  He 
was  one  of  the  upstairs'  waiters  at  the  Boodle 
Purp  Restaurant  and  was  also  one  of  the 
smoothest  varlets  that  ever  smirked.  Like 
half  the  French  waiters  in  San  Francisco,  he 
was  an  Alsatian,  the  other  half  being  Swiss 
and  Belgians.  His  real  name  was  Joseph 
Stein  man  n,  but,  having  been  called  Alphouse 
by  the  first  jovial  gentleman  he  had  waited 
on,  he  had  kept  the  more  Gallic  title  ever 
since. 

He  spoke  English  a  great  deal  better  than 
many  of  the  patrons  of  the  house,  but  no 
man  was  quicker  than  he  to  appreciate  the 
effect  of  accepting  it  as  a  matter  of  course 
that  every  diner  at  a  French  restaurant  spoke 
French  fluently.  Much  of  the  French  he  pro- 
fessed to  understand  would  have  been  a  lingual 
mystery  to  most  men,  but  even  when  some 
dialectic  dude  desired  him  to  "Aportaise  ung 
auter  bottelyeh  der  vang,"  he  cheerfully  chir- 
ruped "Oui,  m'sieu,'1  with  an  instant  acquies- 
ence  that  was  nothing  short  of  fine  art. 


10  SEVEN  SMILES 

"When  in  the  room,  he  slid  about  in  his  list 
slippers  with  the  noiselessness  and  agility  of 
a  cat,  but  when  about  to  enter  the  room,  the 
noise  he  made  with  the  door-knob  stamped 
him  as  one  of  the  most  generously  awkward 
of  men. 

His  smile,  when  it  was  proper  for  him 
to  smile,  flashed  into  play  like  a  calcium- 
light;  but  when  this  property  was  not  called 
for,  he  put  on  a  mask  of  imperturbability  that 
was  impenetrable.  He  admitted  of  no  such 
words  in  his  vocabulary  as  "compromising 
position,"  and  it  is  on  record  that  when 
toward  the  end  of  a  classical  feast  the  ladies 
of  the  partie-carree  were  found  giving  a 
tableau-vivant  of  Eve  Before  and  Very  Much 
After  the  Fall,  he  simply  put  the  coffee  on 
the  floor — the  table  being  occupied — and 
asked,  "Kirche  ou  cognac?" 

One  of  the  most  touching  traits  in  the 
character  of  Alphonse  was  the  affectionate,  if 
not  paternal,  interest  that  he  took  in  the  ap- 
petites of  his  customers.  Nothing  seemed  to 
gratify  him  so  much  as  to  be  intrusted  with 
the  choice  of  an  entree,  and  Coquelin  never 
did  anything  cleverer  than  this  artist's  mo- 
mentary pause  of  solicitous  consideration,  fol- 
lowed by  a  radiant  glow  of  discovery,  as  he 
trotted  off  for  the  morsel  which  he  was  certain 
would  tickle  m'sieu's  palate.  To  be  sure,  it 
was  occasionally  discovered  that  this  special 
treat  was  the  same  that  was  being  served  to 
every  customer,  but  even  that  discovery  could 
not  altogether  efface  the  gratitied  belief  that 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  H 

for  the  moment  Alphonse  had  lived  only  to 
serve  you,  and  you  alone. 

As  a  diplomat,  indeed,  Alphonse  could  have 
taught  school,  with  my  Lord  Sackville  on  the 
lowest  form.  No  matter  how  great  the  incen- 
tive or  how  chock  full  the  room  might  be  of  a 
free-and-easy  atmosphere,  he  never  became 
familiar;  and  though  when  off-duty  he  might 
indulge  in  flippant  trifling  with  the  joyous 
young  females  of  his  acquaintance,  their  ap- 
pearance upstairs  as  escorted  guests  changed 
all  that  into  a  deference  to  "Madame"  that 
was  positively  overpowering. 

The  little  fish  had  dwindled  to  two  or  three 
heads  and  tails,  and  Alphonse  was  listening 
with  charming  intentnesss  to  the  order  for  a 
particular  form  of  sweetbreads  for  entree, 
when  there  came  such  a  resonant  roar  of 
laughter  from  the  next  room  that  even  he 
cocked  up  one  inquiring  eye  in  the  direction 
of  the  noise.  As  to  young  J.  Straw  Phipps, 
who  was  giving  the  order,  he  stopped,  listened 
a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"Well,  I'm  jingoed!" 

"Was  it  very  bad?"  asked  little  Sallie 
Crumpet  (sometime  of  the  Old  Baldheaded 
Theater),  with  that  funny  little  screwing-up 
of  ihe  mouth  which  always  seemed  so  provok- 
ing in  her. 

"Was  what  very  bad?"  repeated  J.  Straw 
Phipps. 

"Being  jingoed,"  she  replied,  with  really 
clever  seriousness. 

"I  suppose  you  think  that's  very  funny," 


13  SEVEN  SMILES 

said  Phipps,  giving  her  a  kicklet  under  the 
table;  "when  I  said  I'm  jingoed,  I  used  it  as 
an  expression  of  amazement.  You  heard  that 
laugh,  of  course?" 

"Ye-es,"  said  Sallie  hesitatingly;  "I  heard 
a  noise." 

''Well,  sir,  I  know  that  laugh." 

"Indeed,"  said  Sallie  sweetly;  "and  do 
you  know  the  man  attached  to  it?" 

"Occasionally,"  said  Phipps;  "this  time — 
but,  oh,  it's  really  too  good.  I  daren't  tell 
you." 

"Daren't  tell  what?"  asked  Sallie,  sipping 
at  her  Bordeaux. 

"Daren't  tell  you  the  name  of  the  fellow  it's 
attached  to  now.  But,  oh,  I  know  him." 

"Don't  believe  it." 

"Bet  you  a  box  of  gloves  against  a  box  of 
cigars." 

"Five-buttoners?" 

"Two-bitters?" 

"Done." 

"Done." 

"And  now,"  asked  Sallie,  holding  out  her 
plate  for  "two  or  three  more  mushrooms," 
"how  are  we  going  to  find  out  if  you  do 
know?" 

"Why,  I'll  name  him,  and  then  we'll  ask 
Alphonse  here  if  I'm  right." 

"Well,  first  name  him." 

"Oh,  don't  you  fret,  young  woman,  I'll  do 
that  quite  soon  enough  for  your  pocketbook. 
Alphonse!" 

"Oui,  m'sieu." 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  13 

"I'm  making  a  bet  that  I  know  the  man 
who's  in  that  next  room  there,  No.  12." 

"Oui,  m'sieu." 

"I  say  that  it's  old  Sam  Catlin,  the  presi- 
dent of  the  Coast  Bank.  Am  I  right?" 

"Truly,  m'sieu,  I  cannot  to  say,"  replied 
Alphonse,  with  a  gesture  of  despair;  "it  ees 
an  old  gaintleman  that  I  have  nevair  seen  be- 
fore. He  is  big,  so;  tall,  vairy  gray — bahld — 
and " 

"Oh,  tut,  tut,"  interrupted  Sallie,  "Al- 
phonse says  he  don't  know  the  man,  so  what's 
the  use  of  a  general  description?  Every  old 
man  that  takes  a  girl  out  to  dinner  is  gray 
and  bald.  I  suppose  there  is  a  girl  there, 
eh?" 

"Oui,  madame." 

'Pretty,  of  course?" 

'Vairy." 

'Blond?" 

'Not  altogezer." 

'Don't  you  know  her,  either?" 

'No,  madame,  I  hav'  nevair  see  her  before. 
I  think  they  rnoost  be  strangers." 

"Strangers  be  hanged,"  broke  in  Phipps; 
"that's  Catlin's  laugh;  I'd  know  it  anywhere. 
It's  got  a  rising  cackle  to  it  that  no  other 
laugh  possesses.  Here,  and  with  a  girl!  Oh, 
it's  too  good!" 

"Well,  Phippy,  I  don't  see  that  you've  got 
a  call  on  those  cigars  simply  because  you  keep 
on  repeating  that  you  recognize  one  man's 
bray  from  another.  Go  and  see  who  it  is.  I'll 
trust  your  word. — for  once," 


14  SEVEN  SMILES 

"Gad,  that's  so,"  cried  Phipps;  "I'll  go 
and  look  in  the  door." 

"You  cannot,"  replied  Alphonse,  "for  he 
iuseest  that  the  door  shall  be  kept  cloze,  and 
he  even  med  me  to  put  up  a  screen  about  the 
table." 

"Oh,  that's  exactly  like  old  Catlin,"  said 
Phipps  exultingly;  "it  would  kill  him  dead 
if  this  got  out.  llovv  the  old  man  would  wilt 
if  I  were  to  drop  the  key  tag  of  No.  12  into 
his  plate  next  Sunday  when  he  came  around 
for  the  collection  to  our  pew." 

"I've  got  an  idea,"  said  Sallie,  who  had 
been  rubbing  her  funny  little  nose  with  a 
spoon;  "you  must  disguise  yourself  as  a  waiter 
and  go  in  there." 

"That's  a  very  good  idea,  Sallie  —  for 
you,"  said  Phipps,  "only  it  won't  work.  He 
knows  me,  he's  the  friend  of  the  family, 
dines  with  us  about  once  a  month,  and  all 
that." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Sallie,  "I  haven't 
been  on  the  stage  for  nothing." 

"So  they  say,"  remarked  Phipps,  pointing 
to  her  glittering  solitaires. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Sallie  again;  "yon 
don't  know  how  much  they  cost.  Come  here 
a  minute." 

Very  expertly  then  she  combed  his  hair 
down  into  a  bang  with  a  fork  and  parted  it  in 
the  middle  with  her  fingers.  Then  from  her 
hand-satchel  she  got  out  something  that 
looked  like  a  miniature  toothbrush,  wet  it, 
and  with  two  or  three  sweeps  converted 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  15 

Phipps'  reddish  mustache  into  a  jet  black 
one. 

Next  she  gave  a  jerk  at  her  back  hair  and 
brought  out  two  little  things  that  looked  like 
fuzzy  sausages.  These  she  pulled  apart,  and 
then  with  two  bent  hairpins  hung  one  over 
each  ear,  so  that  they  looked  like  short 
whiskers. 

"Now  change  coats  with  'Alphonse  and  put 
on  his  apron,"  said  this  nimble-fingered  Sal- 
lie,  "and  your  own  mother  wouldn't  know 
you." 

The  change  was  effected,  and  certainly  the 
disguise  was  astonishingly  complete. 

"What  shall  I  take  in?"  asked  Phipps. 

"I  vill  get  you  the  f rappee  which  he  has 
order,"  said  Alphonse,  and  out  he  slid.  The 
silver  pail,  with  its  beads  of  cold  perspiration, 
was  brought,  and  the  next  moment  Phipps 
was  heard  knocking  at  the  door  of  No.  12, 
and  a  great,  rich  voice  shouting  out  "Come 
in!"  The  next  moment  there  was  heard  a 
crash,  a  cry,  the  overthrow  of  several  pieces 
of  furniture,  certain  ugly  words,  a  fall,  the 
slam  of  a  door,  the  clatter  of  several  feet  in 
the  passage,  and  then  silence. 

"Bigre  de  BIGRE,"  said  Alphonse,  and  then 
he  went  out  and  left  Sallie  alone.  At  first 
she  laughed,  and  laughed  so  heartily  that  the 
tears  came  and  washed  out  little  canals  in  the 
rice-powder  on  her  nose.  Then,  when  the 
silence  continued  and  Phipps  failed  to  come 
in  arid  add  his  roar  of  laughter  to  hers,  she 
stopped  laughing  and  rang  the  bell. 


SEVEN  SMILES 


Alphonse  came  shuffling 
into  the  room,  with  his 
most  woodeny  expression 
on  duty. 

"Oui,  madame." 

"Well,"  said  Sallie,  with 
a  very  forced  quiet;  "where 
is  Mr.  Phipps?" 

"He  has  gone  home,  ma- 
dame." 

"Gone— home?" 

"Oui,  madame.  He — a 
found  a  friend  in  the  next 
room." 

"Yes,  I  know— Mr.  Cat- 
lin." 

"No,  madame,  it  was 
noet  M'sieu  Catlang. " 

"Who,  then,  was  the 
friend?" 

"It  was  the  lady." 

"The  lady!"  cried  Sallie, 
with  a  flush  of  real  color 
on  her  cheeks. 

"Oui,  madame.  Cannot 
madame  guess  who  it  was?" 

Sallie  brought  her  eye- 
brows together  a  moment, 
and  then  threw  up  her  head 
with  an  almost  hysterical 
tee-nee. 

"Not  his  wife?"  she  near- 
ly shrieked. 

AND  THE  WAITER  SMILED. 


THE  WIDOW  SMILED. 


THE  WIDOW  SMILED. 

POOR  old  John  Tregaskis  lay  a-dying.  In 
so  much  as  the  possession  of  this  world's  goods 
went  he  certainly  was  not  poor,  but  it  had  be- 
come the  fashion  among  his  acquaintances  to 
speak  of  the  sick  man  in  that  way. 

He  was  a  Cornishman  who  had  struck  it 
rich  in  the  early  days  of  the  bonanza  whirl, 
and  he  was  one  of  the  few  who  had  had  the 
rare  common  sense  to  hold  on  to  what  he  had 
made.  It  was  a  matter,  some  said,  of  four  or 
five  millions,  but  this  was  the  usual  exaggera- 
tion— his  fortune  being  exactly  eight  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  United  States 
bonds,  and  his  big  house  on  California  Street, 
with  its  valuable  lot  and  gorgeous  furniture. 

Tregaskis  had  been  a  hard-working  miner 
for  over  fifteen  years  when  good  luck  came  to 
him,  and  when  he  dropped  his  pick  for  the 
last  time  his  hands  were  as  horny  as  a  negro's 
foot,  and  his  speech  as  uncouth  as  that  of  a 
Georgia  cracker.  His  first  move  after  securing 
his  fortune  was  characteristic  of  the  man. 

-"Tell'ee  what  'tes,  boys,"  he  said  to  the 
little  crowd  of  men  who  were  lining  the  bar 
of  the  Virginia  City  saloon,  "I'm  goen'  'ome 
to  see  my  mawther.  I  'abn't  'eeard  from  'er 
for  twenty  years,  nor  she  'abn't  'eeard  from 
me  nuther.  Yessir,  I'm  goen'  'ome  and  I'll 
maake  'er  a  rich  wumman." 


20  SEVEN  SMILES 

"Bully  for  you,  Cousin  Jack,"  said  the  crowd 
in  a  straggling  chorus. 

"She  shall  weear  dimonds  and  ate  off  goold 
and  selver  ef  she  waants  to,"  continued  Tre- 
gaskis,  and  with  this  good-fairy-like  resolve  he 
started  next  day  for  England. 

After  less  than  six  months'  absence  Tre- 
gaskis  returned  to  this  country  a  disgruntled 
and  disappointed  man.  He  had  hurried  down 
from  Liverpool  to  the  little  fishing  cove  at  the 
foot  of  the  Cornish  moor,  where  he  had  been 
born  about  fifty  years  ago,  only  to  find  his 
dreams  dispelled.  His  mother  had  been  dead 
for  more  than  six  years — his  father  had  gone 
to  feed  the  fishes  before  John  emigrated  to 
America — and,  saddest  thing  of  all,  she  had 
died  in  want.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Tre- 
gaskis  could  find  the  weedy  mound  in  the 
"poor"  corner  of  the  crowded  little  sandy 
churchyard  that  marked  where  the  good  dame 
lay,  but  when  found  he  covered  it  with  a 
granite  obelisk  fully  twenty  feet  high,  and 
made  it  glorious  with  gold  lettering. 

The  only  relatives  that  he  could  find  alive 
were  an  elder  brother — a  widower — and  his 
son.  This  brother  he  had  never  liked,  and  he 
renewed  that  dislike  ten  minutes  after  he  met 
him,  and  continued  to  hold  to  it  as  long  as  he 
remained  in  Polpedden.  To  the  nephew  he 
took  an  instant  fancy,  and  by  an  angrily  con- 
ducted arrangement  with  the  lad's  father, 
Tregaskis  brought  the  boy  back  with  him  to 
"make  a  man  of." 

The  discovery  that  his  mother  was  dead  and 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  21 

that  she  had  died  without  tasting  of  his  long- 
delayed  good  fortune,  and  the  unpleasant  fact 
that  his  elder  brother  was  still  the  same  surly 
curmudgeon  he  had  always  been,  were  not  the 
only  disappointments  that  Tregaskis  had  to 
bear.  The  Polpedden  he  had  remembered  was 
not  the  Polpedden  that  he  found. 

Neither  the  place  nor  the  people  were  what 
he  had  thought  they  were.  The  people  were 
narrow  in  their  ways  and  opinions  to  an  ex- 
tent that  he  had  never  deemed  possible.  In- 
stead of  being  welcomed  back  by  his  old 
friends  and  companions  as  a  sort  of  Monte 
Cristo,  he  found  that  most  of  these  friends 
and  companions  were  dead  or  had  moved 
away,  and  that  those  who  remained  seemed 
inclined  to  doubt  his  wealth.  For  one  wild 
hour  he  entertained  the  determination  to  send 
over  here  to  his  attorney  for  money  enough  to 
build  a  moorstone  castle  and  confute  these 
wretched  Didymi.  The  fit  passed,  however, 
and  he  decided  to  leave  the  doubters  to  vege- 
tate unenlightened  by  the  Cornish  Sea. 

Perhaps  as  sharp  a  pang  as  any  experienced 
by  Tregaskis  in  the  process  of  disillusioning 
was  that  he  received  when  he  first  turned  the 
cliff  road  and  caught  sight  of  his  birthplace. 
The  village,  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
consider  one  of  the  chief  places  in  the  county, 
turned  out  to  be  nothing  but  a  collection  of 
fishermen's  huts  set  down  higgledy-piggledy 
about  a  breach  in  the  black  cliffs.  The  com- 
munity, which  he  had  remembered  as  a  model 
of  bustle  and  enterprise,  proved  to  be  a  sleepy 


22  SEVEN  SMILES 

and  ill -smelling  hamlet.  The  breezy  down 
above  was  only  a  barren  plateau,  with  sparse 
furze-bushes  and  a  few  gray  donkeys  to  break 
its  dead  level;  the  inn  was  a  hovel  and  the 
church  a  pile  of  damp  stones.  It  was  a  dis- 
mal awakening,  and  it  was  with  bitter  satis- 
faction that  Tregaskis  shook  himself  together, 
remembered  his  interests  in  the  New  World, 
and  turned  his  back  on  Polpedden  forever. 

Dick  Tregaskis  was  a  great  hulking  lad  when 
he  arrived  with  his  uncle  at  Virginia  City, 
but  his  face,  like  those  of  so  many  of  the  Cor- 
nish, was  as  clean-cut  as  a  classic  cameo;  his 
eyes  were  dark  and  intelligent,  and  his  upper 
lip  was  already  covered  with  a  precocious 
down.  Dick  was  sent  to  the  best  school,  and 
old  Tregaskis,  hesitating  in  his  loneliness 
whether  to  take  to  drinking  or  a  wife,  chose 
the  copulative  evil  and  married. 

The  wife  he  selected  was  a  pretty  little 
shop-girl,  as  plump  as  a  partridge  and  as  sleek 
as  a  dove.  She  was  a  demure  thing,  with  the 
loveliest  blue  eyes,  the  tenderest  little  mouth, 
and  hair  the  color  of  a  ripe  wheat-stalk — due 
to  her  being  of  Swedish  race.  As  soon  as 
Agatha  Jansen  had  become  Mrs.  John  Tre- 
gaskis, she  gave  the  old  man  no  rest  until  she 
had  induced  him  to  move  to  San  Francisco, 
where  the  big  house  on  Nob  Hill  was  bought 
and  furnished  in  magnificent  inelegance. 

Tregaskis  was  no  more  at  ease  in  his  sur- 
roundings of  yellow  satin  and  crimson  portieres 
than  was  Mr.  Merdle  at  one  of  his  great  din- 
ner-parties, and  he  spent  most  of  his  indoor 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  23 

time  in  a  plain  little  sitting-room,  where  he 
fitted  up  a  bar,  and  where  his  cronies  had  a 
glorious  time  of  it  whenever  any  of  them  hap- 
pened to  come  "to  the  bay." 

"I  caan't  staand  them  thear  fal-lals,  Aggie," 
he  had  said,  referring  to  the  satin  and  por- 
tieres; "twud  'a  been  deffurnt  ef  mawther  was 
'live,  but  now — "  And  then  he  would  retire 
to  his  den. 

Agatha's  ambition  was  to  get  into  what  she 
called  "high-toned  society,"  and  in  the  two 
or  three  endeavors  she  made  in  that  aspiring 
direction  she  displayed  a  marvelous  adapta- 
bility, but  somehow  the  Tregaskis  family 
never  got  very  far  up.  Then,  in  disgust,  the 
young  wife  dragged  her  husband  off  to  Europe, 
where  they  spent  money  lavishly  and  where 
poor  old  Tregaskis  enjoyed  himself  as  much  as 
a  cat  on  ice. 

Dick  accompanied  them  on  this  grand  tour, 
and  the  attrition  of  travel  went  far  toward 
rubbing  off  the  remaining  corners  from  the 
young  man's  plastic  character  and  rounding 
him  into  a  very  presentable  and  attractive 
fellow. 

Greatly  to  old  John's  chagrin,  however,  his 
nephew  and  wife  got  along  together  misera- 
bly. They  were  forever  bickering  and  saying 
sharp  things  to  each  other,  with  Agatha's 
blue  eyes  glinting  with  a  touch  of  the  old 
Berserker  in  them,  and  Dick's  black  eyes 
snapping  as  his  Phoenician  ancestors'  may 
have  done  when  they  quarreled  over  the  tin 
shipments  on  Marazion  beach.  At  these  times 


24  SEVEN  SMILES 

old  John  would  break  in  with  a  growl,  and 
altogether  it  was  a  wearisome  trio. 

Dick  was  left  at  Yale  when  they  returned  to 
America,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tregaskis  came 
on  to  the  grand  desolation  of  their  big  house  in 
San  Francisco.  Soon  after  that  old  John  fell 
ill  and  took  to  his  bed. 

"Aggie,"  he  said  feebly,  one  day,  "I  giss 
I'm  goen'  'ome  fur  good  thess  time.  Tele- 
gram Dickie  to  come,  and  when  d'  comes  try 
au'  git  'long  weth  the  booy." 

So  Dick  came  home,  big,  brown,  and  hand- 
some, but  as  quarrelsome  with  his  little  fair- 
haired  aunt  as  ever.  The  down  on  his  lip  had 
thickened  into  a  heavy  black  mustache,  and 
he  curled  it  in  a  very  disdainful  way  when  greet- 
ing the  mistress  of  the  yellow-satin  mansion. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  October  evening  when 
the  two  were  summoned  to  the  dying  man's 
room.  They  came  up  from  the  library  with 
flushed  faces,  and  had  evidently  been  engaged 
in  another  heated  wrangle. 

Poor  old  John  Tregaskis  had  made  his  final 
arrangements  with  the  lawyer  and  clergyman, 
and  all  that  he  had  to  do  now  was  to  have  a 
few  last  words  with  the  young  folk  and  then 
drift  quietly  away. 

His  heavy  features  were  thinrfed  by  disease 
and  pain,  and  the  great  bony  hands,  which 
picked  at  the  counterpane,  were  as  white  as 
Agatha's.  He  feebly  put  out  these  hands, 
one  to  each  of  them  as  they  stood  at  either 
side  of  the  bed. 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS. 


"I've  maade 
— a  feear — de- 
viding  of — the 
— money,"  he 
said  slowly, 
then  stopped 
and  looked  in- 
tently up,  smil- 
ing wanly. 

"Iss,  mawth- 
er,"  he  whis- 
pered; "I'll  be 
weth'ee  en  a 
mennet." 

Again  he  was 
silent  for  a  brief 
space  of  time, 
closing  his  eyes 
and  breathing 
heavily  the 
while,  but  re- 
taining his  fee- 
ble hold  of  the 
two  watchers' 
hands.  Open- 
ing his  dull 
eyes  he  turned 
them  alternate- 
ly on  his  wife 
and  nephew. 

"Doan't — ee 
snep-snap  and 
—  jangle  so — > 
when  I'm—  " 


26  SEVEN  SMILES 

Then  the  jaw  fell  and  poor  old  John  Tre- 
gaskis  was  dead. 

Agatha  looked  across  the  bed  at  Dick.  He 
was  standing  with  bent  head  and  was  making 
a  very  proper  figure  of  grief,  but  the  effect  of 
the  decorous  attitude  was  rather  spoiled  by  a 
yellow  hairpin  that  was  sticking  straight  up 
out  of  his  black  mustache.  Ten  minutes  ago 
that  hairpin  lay  implanted  in  one  of  the  bands 
of  golden  hair  that  nestled  upon  Agatha's 
smooth  neck. 

THE   WIDOW   SMILED. 


THE  BROKER  SMILED. 


THE  BROKER  SMILED. 
THIS  is  what  he  wrote: 

"THE  SAME  OLD  PLACE,         ) 
"SAN  FRANCISCO,  Dec.  20,  1889.  j 

"I  don't  exactly  know  how  to  address  you 
now,  so  I  omit  the  usual  form  of  greeting.  I 
have  just  been  looking  over  some  of  your  let- 
ters— those  written  soon  after  that  roystering 
time  of  ours  in  the  redwoods — and,  judging 
from  certain  expressions  to  be  found  in  them, 
you  seem  to  have  been  having  some  roystering 
times  since. 

"Then  you  were  the  contralto  of  Trinity 
Church  choir  and  were  as  demure  as  a  school- 
girl under  the  eyes  of  her  teacher.  A  new 
dress  was  an  event,  and  you  had  to  plan  for  a 
week  to  'get  off'  for  a  day.  I'm  not  quite 
sure  that  I  was  the  'only  one'  then,  but  I'm 
reasonably  certain -that  there  were  not  very 
many  others. 

"Now  you  are  a  star  in  comic  opera,  and  New 
York  dudedom — so  the  papers  say — bows  at 
your  feet  and  their  upward  and  silk-clad  con- 
tinuations. That  symmetry  of  which  I  used 
to  flatter  myself  I  was  the  sole  admiring  critic 


30  SEVEN  SMILES 

is  now  extolled  by  every  critic  and  paragrapher 
of  the  great  metropolis.  Correspondents  find 
your  flat,  conquests  and  your  clothes — or 
rather,  your  want  of  them — a  fruitful  subject 
for  letters  to  out-of-town  newspapers;  and, 
worst  of  all,  your  alleged  portrait  has  appeared 
in  the  Police  Gazette. 

"You  belong  to  the  public! 

"I  don't  suppose  you'll  answer  this.  I  don't 
suppose  it  has  ever  entered  your  pretty  head 
that  I  keep  my  end  of  the  golden  thread  of 
our  past  pleasure  ready  to  meet  yours  in  a 
true  lover's  knot  again;  indeed,  I  guess 
you've  lost  your  end,  or  rather  it  has  been 
frayed  out  into  nothing  long  ago.  I  don't 
suppose  you  ever  think  of  coming  this  way 
again,  or  that  you  would  turn  your  trim  feet 
my  way  if  you  did.  I  don't  suppose  you  will 
be  able  to  identify  your  correspondent  unless 
he  signs  his  name  in  full.  Just  as  a  'flyer/ 
however,  he'll  try  and  sign  himself  plainly 
and  devotedly,  JACK." 

After  he  had  read  over  the  letter,  and  had 
made  one  or  two  alterations — for  Jack  Pickens 
was  a  lawyer — he  dealt  himself  two  photo- 
graphs out  of  a  pack  that  was  scattered  over  a 
side  table.  One  showed  the  face  and  shoul- 
ders of  a  young  girl,  with  features  that  were 
full  of  contradictions.  The  mouth  was  smil- 
ing, but  sedate;  the  corners  of  the  lips  rather 
severely  drawn  down,  but  the  chin  dangerously 
full  and  rounded;  the  nose  might  have  been 
called  classical  had  it  not  been  slightly  tip- 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  3i 

tilted;  the  forehead  was  broad  and  intellectual, 
and  the  eyes  were  bright  with  mischief.  The 
other  portrait  showed  the  full-length  figure  of 
the  same  girl  as  Captain  of  the  Eazzle-Dazzle 
Guard  in  "The  Jolly  Pirates."  There  was  no 
contradiction  of  features  now.  The  face  was 
the  incarnation  of  archness  and  wile — a  studied 
archness  and  a  calculating  wile,  it  is  true. 
Yet  the  face  was  prettier,  because  its  owner 
had  carefully  applied  herself  to  make  it  so; 
and  even  the  homeliest  of  our  sisters  can  get 
some  good  results  from  an  application  of  this 
sort.  The  costume  of  the  Captain  was  so  de- 
signed that  it  left  but  little  of  the  Amazon's 
figure  to  be  guessed  at.  A  glove-fitting 
doublet,  a  narrow  zone  of  slashed  trunks,  un- 
wrinkled  hose,  two  brave  plumes  in  a  tiny  hat 
above  and  low  slippers  on  two  tiny  feet  below, 
a  toy  rapier  and  kid  gauntlets — and  there  was 
the  Captain  prepared  to  kill.  The  hose,  being 
unwrinkled  and  extending  from  ankle  to  hip, 
displayed  their  contents  to  be  so  pleasantly 
uunded,  so  full  of  enchanting  curves  and  un- 
dulations, that  Jack  did  not  wonder  at  the 
ecstatic  exclamation  of  the  Planet's  critic  that 
"Sybil  Gerard's  legs  were  poems  in  lavender." 
A  few  months  passed,  and  then,  one  even- 
ing as  he  was  sitting  before  the  fire  in  his  com- 
fortable rooms,  trying  to  convince  himself 
that  he  was  enjoying  the  latter  half  of  Mark 
Twain's  "Yankee  at  King  Arthur's  Court," 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  He  shouted, 
"Come!"  the  door  opened,  and  framed  be- 
tween the  lintel  and  portiere  stood  Sybil  Gerard. 


32  SEVEN  SMILES 

"What,  Sybil!"  he  exclaimed,  sending  Hank 
and  Sir  Sagramont  le  Desirous  flying  into  a 
corner. 

"Herself,  I  believe,"  said  the  visitor,  com- 
ing in  and  drawing  the  door-curtain  as  though 
she  were  quite  at  home. 

"Her  own  pretty,  gracious  self — very  gra- 
cious to  come  here,  and  prettier  than  ever!" 

"Ah,  it's  the  same  old  Jack,  I  see,"  said 
Sybil,  with  a  laugh  that  lit  up  her  face  like  a 
love-flame,  and  that  turned  the  gas  yellow. 

By  this  time  Jack  was  standing  in  front  of 
her,  holding  her  two  beautifully  gloved  hands 
in  his. 

"May  I?"  he  asked,  slightly  leaning  forward. 

"May  you  what?" 

"May  I  kiss  you?" 

"Why,  of  course  you  may;  and  as  many 
times  as  you  like." 

With  that  he  imprisoned  her  by  force  of 
arms,  and  did  not  release  her  until  she  slipped, 
panting  and  limp,  through  his  hands. 

"The  same  old  Jack,"  she  said  again,  as 
soon  as  she  had  regained  her  breath,  and  had 
sunk  into  a  chair;  "except  that  this  time  you 
asked  me." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "you  see  the  conditions  are 
somewhat  changed.  Formerly  I  used  to  flatter 
myself  that  I  was  the  superior  animal;  but 
now,  since  you  have  become  the  pet  of  the 
New  York  dudes,  why,  of  course  I  must  con- 
fess your  animal  superiority." 

"That's  anice  speech,  now,  isn't  it?"  said 
Sybil,  rolling  up  her  gloves  and  throwing  the. 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  33 

little  kid  ball  at  him.     "And  after  I   have 
come  three  thousand  miles  to  see  you,  too." 

''Did  you  really  do  that?"  asked  Jack,  kiss- 
ing the  projectile  before  dexterously  pitching 
it  back,  so  that  it  struck  with  a  gentle  thud 
against  the  white  fullness  that  swept  out  from 
beneath  the  provoking  chin. 

"Well,"  said  Sybil,  nestling  herself  in  the 
big,  easy-chair — that  one  she  had  used  to  call 
liers — "I'll  tell  you  the  truth." 

Jack  lifted  his  hands  in  mock  amazement. 

"I  came  out  here  to  see  my  mother.'' 

"Dear  child,"  exclaimed  Jack. 

"Don't  get  too  complimentary,"  she  cried, 
with  a  pretty  little  wave  of  her  hands — and, 
dear  me,  how  they  were  be-ringed!  "I  said  I 
was  going  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and  I'll  do  it. 
I  came  out  to  see  my  mother  because  last 
December  she  and  I  were  left  a  little  property 
by  some  old  New  Jersey  relative  that  I  had 
never  heard  of,  and  I  heard  a  few  weeks  ago 
that  this  parent  of  mine  was  bossing  things  in 
a  way  I  didn't  like.  So  1  thought  I'd  just 
investigate." 

"Filial  shrewdness  more  than  filial  affec- 
tion," said  Jack.  "Property  warth  much?" 

"Oh,  not  enough  to  warrant  the  employ 
ment  of  a  legal  agent,"  replied  Sybil,  with  a 
laug'h  that  was  like  the  echo  of  a  champagne 
supper.  Then,  with  a  sharp  turn  of  demeanor, 
she  sprang  out  of  her  chair  and  came  over  and 
knelt  at  Jack's  knees.  "You're  too  far  away 
over  here,"  she  said,  with  a  charming  petu- 
lance. 


34  SEVEN  SMILES 

"You  can  be  closer  than  that,"  said  Jack, 
a  little  wildly. 

"Then  why  don't  you  take  me  up?" 

Some  little  time  after,  fitting  the  end  of  a 
finger  in  the  crease  which  she  called  the  dim- 
ple in  his  chin,  "Jack,"  she  said,  "did  you 
really  keep  those  old  letters  of  mine?" 

"Every  one  of  them,"  said  Jack,  "even  that 
in  which  you  called  me  a  'deceiving  scoun- 
drel.'" 

Just  then  a  hack  stopped  outside  and  a 
peculiarly  loud,  strident  voice  was  heard  ask- 
ing, "Is  this  No.  703?" 

"Who  in  thunder  is  that?"  exclaimed  Jack, 
moving  to  the  window. 

"I  think,"  said  Sybil,  looking  steadfastly 
into  the  fire,  "I  think  it  is  Henry!" 

"And  pray,"  Jack  said,  wheeling  quickly 
about,  "who  may  Henry  be?" 

"Oh,  Henry!"  she  replied,  smiling  up  beau- 
tifully at  him,  "Henry  Van  Norp,  the  rich 
New  York  broker,  you  know." 

"I  don't  know  the  man,"  said  Jack,  "and 
I  don't  want  to  know  any  man  with  a  steam- 
siren  voice  like  that." 

"All  the  same,"  she  answered,  "that  voice 
has  been  worth  many  a  thousand  dollars  to 
old  Van  Norp." 

"Oh,  he's  old,  is  he?" 

"Well,  he's  past  the  vealy  age,"  replied 
Sybil,  pushing  out  her  full  chin  at  him. 

"Thanks.  By  the  way,"  said  Jack,  speaking 
quickly,  as  slow,  solid  footsteps  were  heard 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS. 

coming  up  the  stairs,  "how 
did  old  Van  Norp  know  you 
were  here?" 

"I  just  told  him  I  was  com- 
ing to  see  a  former  sweetheart, 
and  he  said  he  had  no  objec- 
tion. Besides,  even " 

Once  more  that  evening 
Jack  shouted  "Come  !"  only 
much  more  sharply  this  time, 
and  Mr.  Van  Norp  entered — 
a  bald,  burly  man,  heavy  of 
figure  and  manner;  a  thick, 
grisly  mustache  showed  in  bold 
relief  against  a  richly  colored 
face,  keen,  dark,  good-tem- 
pered eyes;  excellently  clothed 
• — the  very  impersonation  of 
mature  vigor  and  comfortable 
circumstance. 

He  was  not  a  man  given  to 
wasting  words.  "Corne,  Sy," 
he  said  in  his  prize  bear-pit 
voice,  "get  your  duds  on,  little 
woman,  and  we'll  drop  around 
and  see  the  minstrels." 

Then  Jack  rebelled.  This 
imperious  ownership  stung 
him"  like  a  whiplash. 

"Sybil,"  he  said,  drawing 
her  great  easy-chair  closer  to 
the  fire,  "don't  go  yet,  dear. 
Think  how  long  it  is  since  I 
have  seen  you.  Think  a  min- 


36  SEVEN  SMILES 

ute  of  the  old  days  when  you   would    have 
struck  the  man  who  even  hinted  at  any  such 

thing  as  master  and  mistress.     Think " 

A  queer,  gurgling  sound  from  the  direction 
of  Mr.  Van  Norp  interrupted  him.  Jack 
looked  round  and  saw  a  beautifully  folded  silk 
umbrella  extended  in  the  air.  The  gold  han- 
dle was  grasped  in  Mr.  Van  Norp's  hand, 
while  the  ferrule  was  pointed  at  Sybil,  who 
had  already  put  on  her  furred  wraps,  and  now, 
with  bent  head,  was  drawing  on  her  gloves 
over  her  jeweled  fingers. 

AND  THE  BROKER  SMILED. 


THE  PURSER  SMILED. 


THE  PURSER  SMILED. 

THERE  were  not  many  white  passengers  on 
that  trip  of  the  San  Pablo  to  China  and  Japan, 
but  had  they  been  much  more  numerous  there 
was  a  trio  standing  near  the  gangplank  that 
could  not  have  escaped  observation. 

Guessing  at  their  relations,  one  to  another, 
I  put  them  down  either  as  being  a  young  wife 
with  an  elderly  husband  and  a  young  male 
friend  of  the  family;  or,  a  newly  married  pair, 
with  a  father  come  to  wish  them  Ion  voyage. 
"Whichever  might  be  the  case,  it  was  very  evi- 
dent that  the  lady  was  the  first  person  of  the 
trinity;  or,  rather,  the  common  center  of  at- 
traction, around  which  each  male  had  his 
orbit.  It  was,  indeed,  curious  to  notice  the 
badly  concealed  disturbance  with  which  each 
satellite  watched  the  other  whenever  the  lady 
showed  a  disposition  to  put  herself  into  more 
familiar  conjunction  with  one  than  with  the 
other. 

Truth  to  tell,  the  petticoated  planet  was 
quite  attractive  enough  to  throw  more  than 
two  attendant  twinklers  off  their  balance. 
She  was  small  in  stature,  but  as  neat  and  trim 
as  a  new  clothespin.  A  spruce  little  hat, 
with  something  of  apple-green  upon  it,  half- 


40  BEVEN  SMILES 

Covered  her  head,  leaving  exposed  behind  Jt 
loosely  braided  coil  of  hair  resting  on  a  firm 
•White  neck,  and  showing  in  front  a  wavy 
fringe  concealing  a  low,  broad  forehead,  the 
hair  being  now,  whatever  its  original  color 
was,  of  a  bright-golden  hue.  The  blond 
locks  corresponded  with  a  pair  of  blue  eyes, 
smooth  round  cheeks,  a  short  straight  nose,  a 
smiling  mouth,  and  dimpled  chin;  in  fact,  the 
charming  head  and  face  of  a  fair  woman.  A 
long  sealskin  cloak,  trimmed  with  unplucked 
otter,  covered  most  of  her  figure  (the  bay  breeze 
being  cold),  but  being  worn  open  in  front  dis- 
closed a  "swelling  bust  and  tapering  waist," 
covered  with  a  black  silk  dress,  short  enough 
to  show  a  pair  of  the  neatest  little  feet  imag- 
inable. 

The  gentlemen  were  of  two  thoroughly  dis- 
tinct types.  The  younger  was  of  medium 
height,  heavy  of  limb,  and  florid  of  face, 
brown  of  eye,  with  reddish-brown  hair  and 
mustache;  much  given  to  smiling  and  show- 
ing a  set  of  solid  teeth  between  two  full  red 
lips;  boasting  a  pair  of  modish  and  well- 
creased  trousers,  and  gorgeous  as  to  the  hands 
in  a  resplendent  pair  of  very  new  and  very 
yellow  dogskin  gloves.  The  elder  was  a 
much  taller  man,  with  what  Lady  Jane  would 
have  called  a  "massive  torso,"  and  having  a 
free,  swinging  gait  that  told  at  once  of  sup- 
pleness and  strength.  His  face  was  of  that  clear 
pallor  that  does  not  mean  unhealthiness,  lit 
up  by  a  pair  of  restless,  bright  greenish-gray 
r  %na  with  its  paleness  accentuated  by  a 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  41 

full  coal-black  beard;  this,  like  the  hair, 
which  was  worn  long,  just  beginning  to  get 
grizzled.  His  clothes  fitted  him  loosely,  yet 
well,  and  his  low-cut  vest  displayed  the 
"unstudied  elegance"  of  a  rumpled  shirt- 
front,  punctuated  with  diamond  studs  and 
set  off  with  a  paper  collar  worn  without  a 
necktie. 

When  the  last  whistle  sounded,  one  point 
in  connection  Avith  the  three  was  settled — the 
young  gentleman  was  not  to  be  a  fellow  pas- 
senger, for,  after  bidding  his  friends  adieu  (in 
open,  friendly  carelessness  with  one,  and  in 
subdued  affection  with  the  other),  he  swung 
down  the  gang-plank  to  the  wharf  and  tried 
to  hide  his  feelings  in  earnest  conversation 
with  a  policeman.  The  manner  of  this  leave- 
taking  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  some  amuse- 
ment to  the  two  remaining  on  board,  and  they 
went  below  quietly  laughing.  They  were  up 
on  deck  before  we  were  abreast  Alcatraz,  and 
set  systematically  to  work  walking  the  deck, 
arm-in-arm,  the  lady  having  replaced  her 
hat  with  a  headdress  of  white  fluffy  wool 
and  the  gentleman  looking  doubly  strong  and 
big  in  a  capoted  coat,  reaching  to  his  heels, 
and  a  high,  flat-topped  German  cap.  From 
ihe  .decidedly  confidential  character  of  their 
conversation  and  attitude  I  became  convinced 
that  the  surmise  as  to  their  being  newly-mated 
M&y  and  October  was  the  correct  one.  But 
my  acumen  received  a  decided  set-back  a  lit- 
tle later,  when,  at  the  lunch-table,  my  place 


42  SEVEN  SMILES 

happening  to  be  next  the  cwo,  I  heard  her  call 
him  "daddy." 

There  and  elsewhere  I  was  an  interested  ob- 
server of  the  two.  The  father  was,  in  one 
sense  of  the  word,  an  accomplished  man.  He 
spoke  French  and  German  well,  and  with 
equal  fluency,  and  was  versed  in  the  cookery 
of  every  known  cuisine.  He  had  been  a  great 
traveler  and  could  talk  from  experience  of 
Lower  California  and  South  Africa,  and  had 
been  on  the  canals  of  Holland  and  the  river 
St.  Lawrence. 

He  had  something  more  than  a  smatter- 
ing of  navigation  and  was  a  practical  mech- 
anician; knew  the  .customs  duties  of  most 
countries  and  the  habits  of  the  elephant;  could 
tell  the  distance  between  Athens  and  St. 
Petersburg  and  the  difference  between  a 
blackthorn  and  a  varnished  pear-stick;  swore 
like  a  heathen  and  rated  jewels  like  a  Hebrew. 
There  was  a  free-and-easiness  about  his  man- 
ners, it  is  true,  but  there  was  withal  a  certain 
polish  on  them,  and,  conversely,  while  he  was 
guilty  of  no  extravagant  solecism,  there  were 
sundry  little  lapses  in  speech  and  etiquette 
which  betrayed  the  veneer  of  acquired  polite- 
ness. Cosmopolitan  in  style  and  conversation, 
it  was  difficult  to  place  his  nationality,  but 
whatever  he  might  be,  Armenian  or  American, 
he  was  a  most  entertaining  companion  and 
was  the  companion  of  a  most  entertaining 
young  lady. 

She,  like  her  father,  had  been  a  great 
traveler;  knew  every  nook  and  corner  of 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  43 

Great  Britain,  and  had  just  returned  to  the 
United  States  from  an  extended  tour  through 
Chili  and  Peru.  Her  life  there  had  included 
many  an  odd  adventure,  and  she  gave  several 
little  glimpses  of  peculiar  South  American 
customs.  Her  mode  of  travel  struck  me  as 
being  singularly  adapted  to  the  country,  it 
having  been  an  unbroken  round  of  camping 
out,  or  as  she  expressed  it,  "tenting."  She 
•was  a  capital  sailor,  and  in  the  dirtiest  weather 
— and  the  weather  is  sometimes  quite  "dirty" 
even  on  the  Pacific — she  never  failed  to  appear 
at  breakfast  in  the  neatest  of  wrappers  and 
with  the  best  of  appetites.  She  wore,  too,  a 
small  fortune  in  diamonds;  one  gorgeous 
cluster  ring  being  a  present  from  her  "daddy," 
on  her  last  birthday,  she  informed  me,  and 
the  earrings  and  pin  being  also  gifts  from 
other  kind  friends.  Her  wardrobe,  I  gathered, 
must  have  been  very  extensive,  for  in  answer 
to  an  inquiry  from  her  father  I  overheard  her 
say  she  had  brought  "twenty  trunks"  with 
her. 

Her  speaking  voice  was  low  and  well  modu- 
lated, and  one  evening  when  there  was  a  little 
music  in  the  saloon  she  sang  Lady  Hill's 
pathetic,  if  hackneyed  song,  "In  the  Gloam- 
ing," in  a  contralto  voice  of  much  sweetness 
and ~  with  very  good  style  and  expression. 
But  being  handed  a  song  by  some  one  present 
with  the  remark  that  it  would  just  suit  her 
voice,  she  returned  it  with  a  naive  reply 
that  she  did  not  think  it  was  low  enonjrh 
for  her  as  it  was  in  sharps,  and  she  could  "only 


44  SEVEN  SMILES 

manage  pieces  that  were  away  down  in  the 
flats."  She  Avas  a  general  favorite  on  board, 
even  with  those  of  her  own  sex,  and  deserv- 
edly so,  for  a  pleasanter,  brighter,  more  lady- 
like little  soul  it  would  be  hard  to  find.  She 
appeared  to  entertain  a  decided  liking  for  her 
"daddy,"  being  at  once  an  affectionate  child 
and  a  familiar  friend. 

The  conversation  happening  to  turn  one  day 
upon  birthplaces,  the  young  lady  surprised  us 
all  by  stating  that  hers  was  Glasgow,  and  by 
giving  us  a  rich  example  of  Scotch  dialect. 
Moreover,  she  said,  all  her  parents  were  Scotch 
for  more  generations  back  than  she  could  re- 
member. Happening  soon  after  to  meet  her 
father,  I  said  to  him,  in  all  innocence: 

"You  are  Scotch,  sir,  I  understand?" 

"Well,"  he  answered,  in  some  surprise,  "if 
being  born  in  New  York  makes  me  so,  then  I 
am." 

I  could  not  exactly  understand  this,  and 
sought  the  purser  for  light  in  my  darkness. 

"Who  are  the  lady  and  gentleman  who  sit 
next  me  at  table?"  I  asked  him. 

For  answer  he  took  down  a  list  of  the 
passengers,  and,  being  a  taciturn  man,  pointed 
to  the  names,  "Mr.  and  Miss  Rousette." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Rousette?"  I  pursued. 

"Half  owner  of  dime  museum,  New  York, 
and  the  discoverer  of  the  two-headed  girls, 
loose-skinned  man,  and  tattooed  Greek  noble- 
man," answered  the  purser. 

"Where  is  he  going?" 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS. 


45 


"To  join  Chiarini's  circus 
at  Yokohama  with  Zazel." 

"And  where  is  Zazel?"  I 
said. 

"Miss  Kousette,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"What  is  her  business?" 


"At  present  it  is  being 
shot  out  of  a  cannon  on  to 
a  trapeze,  but  she  has  just 
finished  a  season  in  South 
America  as  a  star  bicycle 
rider." 

I  had  just  breath  enough 
left  to  ask: 

"And  are  they  father  and 
daughter?" 

AND  THE  PURSER  SMILED. 


THE  GRANDMA  SMILED. 


THE  GRANDMA   SMILED. 

"WON'T  you  please  throw  Flossie  in  for 
me?" 

Maurice  Connolly  was  just  about  to  take  a 
header  into  a  great  roll  of  surf  when  he  heard 
the  request.  He  had  come  down  to  Santa  Cruz 
in  a  very  unenviable  frame  of  mind.  Two 
years  ago  his  grandfather — then  an  old  chap  of 
seventy-one — had  married  again,  and  Maurice, 
who  had  been  led  to  believe  he  would  be  sole 
heir,  his  father  being  dead,  was  considerably 
put  out  thereat — so  much  so,  indeed,  that  when 
he  received  the  news  from  Coronado,  where 
the  new  grandmother  had  been  met,  his  tem- 
per got  the  better  of  his  diplomacy,  and  he 
wrote  back  a  bitter,  rude  letter,  to  which  the 
old  gentleman  replied  with  a  check  for  $10,- 
000  and  the  advice  to  buy  an  interest  in  a 
Montana  sheep  ranch.  Maurice  cashed  the 
check,  and  passed  through  Montana  on  his 
way-to  Europe. 

While  there  he  received  one  or  two  little 
"assistances"  from  Grandfather  Connolly,  as 
well  as  the  comforting  news  that  his  nose  had 
not  been  put  out  of  joint  by  the  appearance 
of  a  new  heir.  It  was  not,  of  course,  to  be  ex- 
pected. That  he  knew,  but  all  the  time  he 


50  SEVEN  SMILES 

was  away  Maurice  never  took  up  the  San 
Francisco  papers  in  the  American  Exchange 
without  fearfully  glancing  over  the  column  of 
"Births." 

Two  years  passed,  and  then,  satisfied  that 
his  grandfather  could  not  long  delay  the  gen- 
tlemanly act  of  dying  and  dying  childless, 
Maurice  came  scurrying  back  to  California. 
When  Maurice  called  at  the  old  man's  office 
he  found  him  very  feeble,  but  very  keen  and 
very  suspicious.  'He  was  told,  rather  coldly, 
that  his  old  quarters  were  at  his  disposal,  but 
Maurice  said  something  about  "Meeting  that 

d n  woman,"  to  which  Connolly,  Sr.,  said 

"Just  so,"  and  did  not  repeat  the  invitation. 
Then  it  was  that  Maurice  flounced  on*  to  Santa 
Cruz,  where,  on  the  third  morning  after  his 
arrival,  he  was  requested  to  "Throw  Flossie 
in." 

Turning,  he  saw  that  Flossie  was  a  tiny 
spaniel  held  in  a  little  lady's  arms,  and  his 
first  impulse  was  to  pass  on.  But  when  he 
looked  again  at  the  little  lady's  sweet  face, 
and  noted  the  expression  of  simplicity  and 
candor  in  her  violet-colored  eyes  he  relented. 

"With  pleasure,"  he  said,  stretching  out 
his  hands  for  the  dog;  "but  why  don't  you 
take  him  in  yourself?" 

"Because  I  cannot  swim,  and  because  I 
dread  the  ridiculous  display  of  two  poor  little 
creatures — I  mean  Flossie  and  myself — pad- 
dling about  in  the  froth.  Then,  too,"  she 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  51 

added,  "I  have  noticed  how  splendidly  you 
swim." 

Maurice  looked  keenly  at  her  once  more, 
and,  being  satisfied,  he  asked  her  if  she  would 
like  to  learn  to  swim. 

"Nothing  would  please  me  more,"  answered 
the  little  lady  with  a  radiant  smile,  "if  I  only 
had  a  teacher." 

"The  etiquette  of  a  bathing  place  is  a  good 
deal  like  that  of  a  masked  ball,  I  take  it," 
said  Maurice,  "and  if  you  will  allow  me,  I 
should  be  very  happy  to  act  in  the  capacity  of 
teacher." 

The  offer  was  pleasantly  accepted,  and  the 
arrangement  made  that  Maurice  should  wait 
for  her  outside  the  Star  of  the  West,  bath- 
house at  eleven  the  next  morning,  Flossie's  dip 
being  postponed  until  that  time.  When  she 
came  out  of  the  bath-house,  Maurice  had  a 
sort  of  spasm  of  surprise.  When  speaking  to 
her  on  the  preceding  day  he  had  "sized  her 
up"  as  a  diminutive  creature,  in  a  white  dress 
that  had  been  made  full  and  loose  for  artistic 
reasons,  but  when  she  appeared  in  a  close- 
fitting  bathing  suit  of  dark-blue  jersey  cloth, 
he  had  to  confess  that  there  was  no  need  of 
the  modiste's  cunning.  She  was  small,  of 
course,  but  as  plump  as  a  cherub,  and  as 
daintily  proportioned  as  a  Lorelei.  Not  much 
guesswork  was  needed  concerning  the  har- 
monious proportions,  and  there  was  quite  a 
buzz  among  the  bathers  as  Maurice  took  her 
by  the  hand  and  led  her  gallantly  into  the 
surf. 


62  SB  YEN  SMILES 

"I  did  not  bring  Flossie,"  she'  gasped,  as 
the  first  wave  came  surging  up  around  her, 
"as  I  tho-o-o-ugh-t-t  one  of  us  s-s  would  be 
quite  enough  to-o-o  begin  with." 

She  shivered  and  chattered  about  the  teeth 
for  a  little  while,  but  was  so  quietly  brave  and 
so  dexterous  and  determined  that  Maurice 
declared  with  sturdy  sincerity  that  she  wa3 
the  most  apt  pupil  he  had  ever  had. 

Well,  there  were  other  lessons  in  the  surf, 
and  then — 0  the  glorious  gallops  along  the 
cliff  road,  with  the  roystering  wind  blowing 
in  from  the  sea;  and  0  the  charming  drives 
to  the  Big  Trees,  and  the  comforting  walks 
under  the  tonic  pines.  And  0,  too,  the 
lazy,  moonlit  evenings  and  the  pleasureful 
nights! 

She  was  the  gentlest,  tenderest  little  com- 
panion that  a  man  could  possibly  wish  for;  a 
bright,  unaffected  lady;  a  fond  and  attractive 
woman. 

She  refused  him  nothing,  and  gave  herself 
up  to  him  with  sweet  abandonment.  All 
she  asked  was  that  he  should  not  seek  to 
know  whether  she  called  herself  Mrs.  Alex- 
ander for  fancy  or  for  fact. 

"Let  me  be  just  what  I  am  to  you,"  she 
said,  "and  you  can  take  it  for  granted  that  if 
circumstances  so  frame  it,  you  will  be  'called,' 
as  certain  of  our  brethren  say." 

So,  when  some  four  happy  weeks  had  passed, 
the  little  lady  one  day  left  him,  and  then 
Santa  Cruz  seemed  but  a  foggy  cove  to  Mau- 
rice, and  drawing  on  Grandfather  Connolly,  he 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  53 

cleared  the  blurr  from  his  eyes,  set  his  lips 
together,  and  went  to  Mexico. 

A  full  year  passed  before  the  "call"  came. 
In  the  romantic  hope  of  re-finding  Love's 
young  dream,  Maurice  had  come  back  to 
Santa  Cruz,  and  there,  sure  enough,  three 
days  after  his  arrival,  the  following  note  was 
handed  him  with  his  key: 

"If  Mr.  Maurice  Connolly  has  not  quite  for- 
gotten his  little  friend  upon  whom  he  con- 
ferred the  Disorder  of  the  Bath  some  twelve 
months  ago,  she  would  much  like  to  see  him. 
For  reasons  that  are  real,  though  recent,  his 
sometime  companion  in  that  delightful  Dis- 
order is  compelled  to  ask  Mr.  Connolly  to 
come  to  Monterey,  where  she  is  staying  at  the 
Del  Monte.  This  is  written  on  Monday,  and 
if  Mr.  Connolly  can  make  it  convenient  to 
meet  the  writer  near  the  tennis  courts  here  on 
any  of  the  three  following  afternoons  she  will 
have  much  pleasure  in  showing  him  that  he  is 
not  forgotten — as  well  as  something  in  which 
he  should  feel  a  great  interest." 

Maurice  froze  and  burned  by  turns  as  he 
read  -this  odd  communication,  but  he  grew 
especially  warm  about  the  ears  when  he  came 
to  the  final  phrase. 

"Quaint  and  original  as  ever,"  he  said,  then 
Dragged  out  his  watch,  ran  downstairs  and 
scampered  to  the  depot. 

She  was  at  the  tryst,  looking  so  enticing  in 


54  SEVEN  SMILES 

her  pretty  lounging  costume  of  soft,  clinging 
stuff,  and  with  her  eyes  sparkling  so  brightly 
when  Maurice  hove  in  sight,  that  he  felt  all 
the  old  ardor  sweep  over  him  like  a  warm 
breeze. 

She  held  up  a  warning  hand  as  he  rushed 
forward. 

"There  is  a  young  gentleman  around  that 
azalea  bush,"  she  said,  "who  might  be 
shocked." 

"A  young  gentleman,"  growled  Maurice. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  smiling;  "I'm  sure  I  re- 
ferred to  him  in  my  note." 
.  Then  Maurice  smiled,  too,  and  passing 
round  the  azalea  together  they  halted  before 
a  much  be-laced  baby  wagon,  drawn  by  a 
stolid  bonne,  and  in  it  lay  a  tiny  child  asleep. 

Gently  drawing  down  a  gorgeous  counter- 
pane of  quilted  satin,  she  asked  if  Maurice 
didn't  think  "he  was  splendid?" 

"Well,"  said  the  young  man,  with  pardona- 
ble self-complacency,  "of  course " 

At  this  moment  he  was  struck  rather 
smartly  on  the  back,  and  turning  hastily 
round,  saw  Grandfather  Connolly  standing 
there. 

"He,  he!"  cackled  the  old  man — and  Mau- 
rice could  not  help  noticing  how  ancient  and 
weazened  he  was — "Ha,  ha!"  he  cackled 
again,  "Sorry  for  you,  Maurice,  my  boy,  but 
we  old  fellows,  Do  Lesseps  and  the  rest  of  us, 
you  know,  will  keep  up  this  sort  of  thing,  you 
see." 

What  did  it  mean? 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  55 


Maurice  glanced  at  the 
lady,  but  she  was  engaged 
in  rearranging  the  child's 
cover,  and  the  bonne  was 
staring  straight  away  to 
Normandy. 

"Wasn't  aware  you  knew 
my  wife,"  pursued  the  old 
man,  with  another  rattling 
laugh;  "  'that  d  --  n  wo- 
man,' you  know." 

"Your  wife,"  gasped 
Maurice,  tottering  back- 
wai%d  as  the  wllole  situa- 
^on  an(^  Pl°t  flashed  lurid- 
ly upon  him.  "This  child, 
then,  is  my  --  " 

"Is  your  own  —  uncle," 
said  the  little  lady  sweetly. 

"Is  my  son  —  my  heir," 
wheezed  the  old  gentle- 
man, squaring  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"Towrson!  My  uncle!" 
repeated  Maurice,  in  a 
hollow  voice.  "Then 
you  —  madam  —  are  —  my  — 
grandmother!" 

AND  THE  GKANDMA 
SMILED. 


THE  LADY  SMILED. 


THE  LADY  SMILED. 

THE  Saturday  afternoon  train  at  Point 
Tiburon  was  crowded  as  usual  and  people  were 
streaming  through  the  'Cars  in  the  hurried 
search  for  vacant  seats.  Little  Mr.  Tom  N. 
Oddy,  who  was  just  starting  out  on  his  two 
days'  vacation,  knew  there  would  be  this  rush 
and  so  was  among  the  first  to  scamper  off  the: 
boat,  clamber  into  the  nearest  coach,  and 
preempt  the  best  middle  seat  on  the  shady 
side  of  the  car.  Then,  after  the  miserable 
fashion  of  his  kind,  he  proceeded  to  cover  the 
entire  seat  with  himself,  his  overcoat,  his 
cane,  and  his  valise. 

This  exercise  of  selfishness  accomplished,  he 
drew  an  evening  paper  from  his  pocket  and 
pretended  to  be  absorbed  in  the  baseball  re-- 
ports. As  he  read,  however,  he  could  not 
help  being  conscious  of  a  persistent  shadow 
that  fell  upon  the  sheet.  Other  shadows  went 
forward  and  backward  like  jostling  silhouettes, 
but  this  one  stayed.  Glancing  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  right  eye,  he  saw  a  small  black- 
gloved  hand  resting  upon  the  top  of  the  seat 
Just  where  his  overcoat  lay,  and  then,  curios- 
ity leading  him  further  afield,  he  glanced  still 
more  and  found  that  the  hand  belonged  to 
one'of  the  most  charming  women  it  had  ever 
been  his  undeserved  good  fortune  to  see. 

Her  face  was  rather  pale,  almost  sallow  in- 
deed, but  lit  up  by  a  pair  of  great  black  eyes 
that  were  as  luminous  as  a  child's  and  as  gen-? 
tie  as  a  doe's.  The  nose  was  short,  straight, 


60  SEVEN  SMILES 

but  rather  too  stout;  the  mouth  was  full  and 
red,  with  a  provoking  little  droop  to  the  lower 
lip;  and  the  chin  was  round  and  slightly 
double.  The  eyebrows  were  heavy  and  the 
hair  was  black  with  a  coppery  tint  at  the 
edges.  The  dress  was  black,  relieved  by  three 
great  damask  roses  at  the  bosom,  and  was  so 
draped  as  to  show,  with  some  degree  of 
accuracy,  a  lithe  but  well-rounded  figure. 

It  may  be  repeated  that  little  Mr.  Tom  N. 
Oddy  felt  that  he  had  never  before  seen  so  be- 
witching a  creature,  and  when  she  looked  at 
him  in  a  pleading,  timorous  way  and  asked  in 
a  low  voice  if  "this  seat  were  engaged,"  he 
swept  his  things  out  of  the  way  with  a  single 
movement  and  declared  himself  delighted  to 
be  able  to  say  it  was  not.  She  thanked  him 
with  a  little  faltering  smile  and  sat  down. 

She  was  unprovided  with  current  literature, 
and  so  little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy,  as  the  first 
advance  toward  his  determined  plan  of  mak- 
ing himself  agreeable,  offered  her  part  of  his 
paper.  At  this  she  stiffened  somewhat,  then 
prettily  declined  the  offer,  saying  that  it  hurt 
her  eyes  to  read  on  the  train.  As  she  said  so 
she  turned  those  beautiful  orbs  of  hers  upon 
the  young  man,  and  just  to  show  that  he 
knew  what  was  proper  under  the  circum- 
stances, he  replied  that  no  book  or  paper  that 
had  yet  been  written  was  worth  spoiling  those 
eyes  over.  She  threw  up  the  lids  a  little  more 
at  this,  then  smiled  again  and  lifted  her 
shoulders  in  something  very  near  a  shrug. 

Little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy  observed  this— he 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  61 

was  a  very  observing  young   man — and  haz- 
arded the  remark  that  she  was  a  foreigner. 

"No,"  she  replied;  "I  was  born  in  Cali- 
fornia." 

"Ah,  indeed,"  said  he,  with  fine  spirit,  "so 
was  I — so  that  we  are  a  native  son  and  daughter 
of  the  Golden  West,  and  therefore  related." 
,   "That's   quite   ingenious,"   she   remarked; 
"are  you  a  lawyer?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  getting  rather  red  in 
the  face;  "I'm  connected  with  Messrs.  Sock, 
Tie  &  Co." 

"I  have  a — a  friend  who  deals  there,"  said 
she  sweetly;  "are  you  one  of  the  partners?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  feeling  very  warm  about 
the  ears;  "I  have  charge  of  the  suspender  de- 
partment." 

"Oh,  that  must  be  very  nice,"  said  she; 
"such  a  pleasant,  clean  business,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  but  without  any  very 
great  enthusiasm,  for  this  was  a  subject  on 
which  he  did  not  particularly  care  to  converse. 
He  did  not  mind  it  when  he  was  with  the 
"fellows"  Avho  earned  their  living  in  the  same 
"state  of  life,"  but  at  present,  when  he  was 
deeply  possessed  of  the  necessity  of  making  an 
impression  on  this  beautiful  creature,  he  felt 
that  the  topic  was  one  that  ought  to  be 
changed  as  speedily  as  possible.  So,  grasping 
his  cane  in  such  a  way  as  to  bring  a  flashing 
ring  within  range  of  those  lovely  eyes,  he 
asked  their  owner  if  she  was  going  far. 

"To  Santa  Eosa,"  she  said;  "and  you?" 

"Oh,  I'm  going  on  back  of  Cloverdale  for  a 


62  SEVEN  SMILES 

little  roughing  it,"  he  said,  with  delightful 
airiness,  although  he  forgot  to  add  that  the 
scene  of  the  roughing  was  his  mother's  ranch. 

"Does  it  hurt  you — to  rough  it?"  she 
asked,  with  such  gentle  interest  that  he 
thought  he  had  never  met  with  anything  quite 
so  tender  and  unsophisticated. 

"Bless  you,  no,"  he  cried;  "why,  it's  the 
pleasantest  kind  of  life.  Fresh  air,  fresh 
milk,  and  an  occasional  bear " 

"Bears!"  she  cried;  "but  surely  those  nasty 
hugging  things  must  be  dangerous?" 

"Of  course  they  are,"  said  he  valiantly; 
"but  I  go  well  prepared.  I  have  a  revolver 
in  my  valise,  and  this  cane  is  a  sword-cane." 

"Is  it  really,  now?"  she  asked,  with  ready 
interest;  "how  does  it  work?  But  perhaps  it 
is  not  right  to  display  it  here." 

"I  don't  know  but  what  you're  right,"  as- 
sented little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy,  "especially  as 
that  fellow  across  the  way  has  done  nothing 
but  stare  at  us  ever  since  the  train  started.  I 
must  say  he's  exceedingly  impertinent  to  go 
looking  like  that  at  people  he  don't  know." 

"Ah,  but  that's  not  all,"  said  she;  "would 
you  believe  it,  that  man  has  followed  me  ever 
since  I  left  my  house,  got  on  the  same  boat, 
and  now  here  he  is  on  the  same  train.  Oh,  if 
I  only —  But  there,  don't  let's  notice  him. 
Tell  me  about  your  bear  hunts  and  how  you 
would  use  your  knife  if  you  saw  a  bear  going 
to  hug  me." 

Little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy  was  trying  hard 
\q  remember  the  most  exciting  bear  adventure 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  63 

he  had  ever  read  of,  when  the  engine  gave  a 
shrill  toot. 

"Oh,  my!"  cried  she,  laying  her  hand  on 
little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy's  arm;  "I  do  believe 
we're  going  through  a  tunnel." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  and  with  an- 
other toot  the  engine  plunged  into  the  long, 
black  hole.  A  wild,  wicked  hope  leaped  up  in 
little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy's  little  mind,  but  it 
only  lived  a  moment,  for  there,  directly  over 
the  next  seat,  was  hung  a  lighted  lamp.  It 
only  burned  dimly,  and  the  light  it  gave  out 
in  the  blackness  of  the  tunnel  was  very  faint, 
but  it  was  quite  enough  to  stay  little  Mr.  Tom 
N.  Oddy  from  doing  the  desperate  thing  he 
had  contemplated.  He  could  see  the  pale 
outline  of  her  face  and  two  lustrous  spots 
which  showed  where  her  eyes  were  gleaming, 
but  so,  too,  he  could  see  the  oval  of  that  fel- 
low's face  across  the  way,  and  was  very  sure 
that  in  the  upper  half  of  that  oval,  just  where 
it  was  cut  by  the  dark  line  of  the  hat-brim, 
there  were  two  other  eyes  which  were  fixed 
very  persistently  in  his  direction.  There  was 
no  use  trying  to  talk  against  the  roar  of  the 
tunnel,  but  when  they  were  clear  of  it  and  in 
the  light  once  more,  little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy 
gave  vent  to  his  feelings  by  saying: 

"Confound  that" lamp!" 

"Why?  Does  it  smoke?"  she  asked,  with 
gentle  solicitude  in  both  her  look  and  tone. 

"No,"  he  said;  "but  if  it  had  not  been  lit, 
the  car  would  have  been  dark  in  the  tunnel, 
and  then " 

"Then,  what?" 


64  SEVEN  SMILES 

"Well,  one  is  so  much  bolder  in  the  dark," 
he  replied,  with  Machiavellian  evasiveness. 

"Don't  you  think  you  are  bold  enough  in 
the  light?"  she  asked,  with  captivating  arch- 
ness. 

"Sometimes,"  he  answered. 

There  was  a  short  silence,  during  which  lit- 
tle Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy  brought  his  diamond 
ring  into  better  view,  and  attempted  to  find 
out  whether  her  feet  were  on  the  floor  or  on 
the  restbar. 

"That  is  the  only  tunnel  on  this  part  of  the 
road,  is  it  not?"  she  asked. 

Little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy  gave  a  start. 
"No,  indeed,"  he  said,  "there  are  three  more 
between  this  and  San  Kafael." 

She  sat  quiet  again,  looking  pensively  at 
her  folded  hands. 

"Is  your  sword-stick  hollow?"  she  asked, 
with  curious  interest,  considering  the  apparent 
irrelevancy  of  the  question. 

"Stick  hollow?"  he  repeated;  "yes,  it's  a 
Chinese  bamboo;  that  is,  with  the  joints  bored 
out.  Do  you  wish  to  examine  it?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile  like  a 
sunbeam;  "only  I  was  thinking  that  if  the 
ferule,  or  whatever  you  call  that  brass  thimble- 
thing  at  the  end  of  the  stick,  were  cut  off  and 
the  sword  removed,  it  would  make  a  splendid 
blowpipe." 

"Well,  well,"  he  stammered  confusedly, 
"what  in  the  world  do  I  want  of  a  blowpipe?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  I  suppose,"  she  answered, 
with  another  flash  of  smile,  "only  I  was  think 
ing,  also,  that  if  any  one  had  such  a  blowpipe 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  65 

it  would  just  about  reach  from  here  to  that 
lamp,  and  that  a  little,  well-directed  puff 
would  blow  it  out  without  any  one  being  the 
wiser." 

''Oh,  you  angel,"  said  little  Mr.  Tom  N. 
Oddy,  and,  with  two  motions,  he  whipped  out 
the  sharp  sword-blade  and  slashed  off  the 
ferule. 

As  he  did  so  there  came  another  warning 
toot  from  the  engine  and  a  little  smothered 
cry  from  his  side. 

"Why,  here's  another  tunnel,"  she  cried. 

Then,  in  the  gathering  darkness,  little  Mr. 
Tom  N.  Oddy  cunningly  laid  the  bamboo  tube 
along  the  side  of  the  car  until  the  further 
end  was  just  under  the  lamp-glass,  set  his 
mouth  to  the  near  end,  gave  a  sharp  puff,  and 
presto!  the  car  was  in  what  is  sometimes 
known  as  Egyptian  darkness.  There  was  a 
chorus  of  cries  and  smacking  sounds  from  all 
over  the  car  as  the  light  went  out,  but  little 
Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy  minded  none  of  these,  but 
turned  in  a  tremble  of  excitement  to  snatch 
his  reward  from  his  captivating  companion. 

As  he  flung  out  his  arms  to  make  a  prisoner 
of  the  dainty  beauty  at  his  side,  they  were 
seized  by  two  hands  of  iron,  and  then  little 
Mr. .Tom  N.  Oddy  felt  himself  irresistibly 
drawn  down  and  doubled  up  over  two  un- 
doubtedly male  knees.  Then  one  of  those 
iron  hands  was  swiftly  drawn  away,  and,  before 
Jittle  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy  knew  what  was  hap- 
pening, he  was  treated  to  a  castigation  of  that 
basic  order  which  vigorous  mothers  sometimes 


66 


SEVEN  SMILES 


administer  to  rebellious 
sons.  Then  he  was  lifted 
up  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
been  drawn  down  and 
planted,  with  a  jerk,  in  his 
corner.  Before  he  had  re- 
covered his  breath  the  train 
was  rushing  into  the  day- 
light once  more,  and  there, 
sitting  quietly  at  his  side 
and  reading  his  paper,  was 
the  stalwart  young  man  of 
the  opposite  seat. 

"How  — dare— "  little 
Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy  began, 
with  a  fierce  pant,  when 
the  young  man  turned 
slowly  on  him  and  said,  in 
a  ponderous,  bass  voice: 

"Please  accept  my 
thanks  for  your  kind  at- 
tentions to  my  wife." 

"Your  wife!"  gasped 
little  Mr.  Tom  N.  Oddy, 
and,  glancing  wildly  across 
the  aisle,  he  saw  the  lovely 
creature  sitting  demurely 
in  the  young  man's  seat. 
Demurely  oirly  for  a  mo- 
ment, however,  for  then  a 
merry,  wicked  light  sprang 
into  those  ravishing  eyes, 
and — 

THE  LADY   SMILED. 


THE  MAIDEN  SMILED. 


THE  MAIDEN  SMILED. 

HE  certainly  used  most  remarkable  gestures, 
and  used  them  with  a  freedom  that  very  much 
surprised  young  Mr.  Leonard,  until  that 
youth  happened  to  haltingly  think  that  a 
Chinaman  was  an  Oriental  and  that  the 
Orientals  are  born  gesture-makers. 

He  was  unusually  tall  for  a  Chinaman,  and 
unusually  gaunt,  too,  and  as  he  threw  up  his 
long  arms  to  emphasize  some  particular  state- 
ment, the  heavy  jade  bangles  slipped  down 
over  his  elbows;  while,  when  he  lowered  his 
arms  again,  he  had  to  spread  out  his  fingers 
to  keep  the  stone  bracelets  from  falling  to  the 
floor.  Now  he  would  poise  his  left  hand, 
palm  up,  in  the  air,  and  would  dart  his  right 
hand  in  and  out  of  this,  the  fingers  all 
bunched  to  a  point,  as  though  it  were  some 
bird  of  prey  swooping  down  on  its  quarry. 
At  another  time  he  would  drop  both  these 
ner\ious  hands  to  the  furthest  limits  of  arms'- 
reach,  scoop  up  an  invisible  something,  and 
then,  lifting  this  head-high,  would  scatter  it 
to  the  four  winds,  with  a  tornado  motion  of 
body  and  limbs  that  was  very  effective. 

The  play  of  his  facial  features  was  quite  as 
remarkable.  Like  so  many  of  his  countrymen, 


?0  SEVEN  SMILES 

he  was  deeply  pitted  with  smallpox,  but,  un- 
like most  of  his  countrymen,  his  eyes  were 
large,  though  obliquely  set,  and  full  of  fire. 
His  neck  was  long  and  pliant  as  a  snake,  and 
indeed,  when  he  threw  back  his  head,  opened 
his  mouth  until  the  corners  ran  up  to  the 
cheek  bones,  and  shot  out  a  flash  of  light  from 
under  his  half-shut  lids,  there  was  something 
quite  ophidian  in  his  appearance. 

That  young  Mr.  Leonard  in  his  little  sur- 
reptitious ramble  through  Chinatown  was  at 
first  attracted  by  the  gestures  and  Boanergian 
voice  of  the  Chinaman,  there  is  no  doubt,  but 
after  a  few  moments  had  passed  his  attention 
was  drawn  to  another  of  the  group  of  which 
the  orator  was  the  center.  There  were  six  of 
them  in  this  group,  sprawled  about  the  little 
gloomy  store,  in  which  nothing  particular 
seemed  to  be  sold.  Five  of  them  were  men 
and  the  sixth  was  a  woman,  or  girl,  or 
child,  young  Mr.  Leonard  could  not  exactly 
say  which.  Anyway,  whatever  her  age  may 
have  been,  she  was  as  pretty  as  a  peach — or 
rather  as  a  nectarine,  for,  like  that  fruit,  she 
was  small  and  round  and  plump  and  juicy; 
like  it,  her  skin  was  smooth  and  yellowish- 
brown,  with  red  splashes  here  and  there;  and 
she — still  like  the  fruit— no  doubt  looked  to  be 
a  good  deal  better  than  she  really  was.  Her 
hair  was  starched  out  on  each  side  of  her  head 
like  a  black  butterfly's  wings,  and  was  twisted 
into  a  bar  behind  that  looked  like  the  handle 
of  a  black  teapot.  This  general  gloominess 
of  headgear  was,  however,  relieved  by  sundry 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  71 

little  paper  chrysanthemums  stuck  here  and 
there,  while  in  the  thickness  of  the  teapot 
handle  there  were  two  gold  skewers,  set  up 
like  a  St.  Andrew's  cross.  Her  hair  was 
drawn  back  in  front  from  a  low  but  intelligent 
forehead,  underneath  which  glittered  a  pair 
of  mischievous  eyes.  The  nose  was  a  snub, 
the  mouth  was  quite  pretty  and  provoking, 
and  chin  and  cheeks  and  neck  were  smooth 
and  round.  Down  below  her  trousers — dark 
purple,  like  her  blouse — showed  two  plump 
ankles  covered  with  fine  white  socks;  and 
beneath  these  were  two  tiny  feet — naturally 
tiny — incased  in  shoes  of  light  apple-green, 
with  high,  white  soles  running  down  to  a 
point  from  toe  and  heel  like  the  lines  of  a 
sampan. 

The  trick  of  finding  out  that  a  young  man 
is  looking  at  her  is  not  confined  to  the  Cau- 
casian girl,  and  two  minutes  had  not  passed 
before  little  Quang  Loo  began  to  preen  and 
perk. 

She  accepted  a  conical  cigarette  which  one 
of  the  Chinamen  offered  her,  throwing  out  a 
deprecatory  glance  at  young  Mr.  Leonard 
as  she  did  so,  as  though  to  ask  excuse  for 
the  mannish  custom,  and  pulled  back  her 
loose  sleeves — there  seemed  to  be  five  or  six  of 
them — showing  a  dimpled  arm  that  was  alto- 
gether feminine.  There  followed  coy  looks  in 
the  shelter  of  a  big  red-silk  handkerchief; 
roguish  smiles  half-hidden  by  a  veil  of  very 
queer-smelling  tobacco  smoke,  until,  almost 
before  he  knew  it,  young  Mr.  Leonard  was 


72  SEVEN  SMILES 

deep  in  the  midst  of  a  first-class  flirtation: 
with  a  third-class  heathen. 

The  experience  was  one  that  made  young 
Mr.  Leonard  tingle  clear  down  to  the  tips  of 
his  brilliant  yellow  gloves  and  that  made  him 
flush  so  that  his  spectacles  actually  got  dewy. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  done  such  a 
thing,  and  he  trembled  with  a  delicious  fever 
of  joyful  fright  to  think  of  what  he  would  do 
if  ever  his  mamma  should  find  out  what  he 
was  about. 

He  and  his  mamma  were  Boston  peo- 
ple, quite  rich  and  undoubtedly  superior. 
She  was  a  widow  and  this  was  her  only  son, 
her  "mother's  boy."  He  had  been  brought  up 
like  a  pet  lamb,  and,  like  that  festive  young 
creature,  was  very  innocent  and  very  weak — 
and  he  looked  it.  Though  now  nearly  twenty, 
his  mamma  still  called  him  Baby,  and  so  did 
nearly  everybody  else,  for  the  matter  of  that. 
She  would  have  kept  him  in  knickerbockers  if 
she  could  possibly  have  done  so,  but  even 
young  Mr.  Leonard's  mild  spirit  rebelled  at 
this  and  he  insisted  on  clothing  his  flaccid 
little  self  in  the  rig  of  the  ultra-angloma- 
niacs. 

On  those  rare  occasions  on  which  mamma 
allowed  him  to  stray  from  under  her  maternal 
eye,  her  parting  injunction  invariably  was, 
"Now  Baby,  be  sure  you  don't  get  into  mis- 
chief," and  here  he  was  getting  into  the  very 
worst  description  of  that  article. 

He  had  passed  the  handkerchief  phase  and 
had  arrived  at  that  desperate  state  where  he 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  73 

was  slyly  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  a  visiting 
curd,  when  in  one  of  the  gestureful  China- 
man's  comprehensive  sweeps  of  arms  and 
vision,  the  Celestial  saw  what  was  going  on. 
For  a  moment  his  hands  hung  suspended, 
then  they  dropped  with  a  thwack  on  two  bony 
knees,  while  he  shot  out  a  few  gutturals  to 
his  companions.  These  looked  quickly  and 
sharply  out  of  the  little  store- window  and  up 
and  down  the  street,  and  then,  at  some  more 
gutturals  from  the  tall  Chinaman,  they  slipped 
out  and  closed  swiftly  around  the  startled 
youth.  Before  he  knew  what  had  happened, 
young  Mr.  Leonard  found  himself  inside  the 
store,  sitting  down  beside  the  little  Chinese 
girl — much  closer  than  he  had  ever  dared  to 
imagine,  and  the  six  Chinamen  so  thickly 
grouped  about  him  that  he  was  hidden  behind 
them  as  by  a  wall — a  little  wall  of  China,  in 
fact.  With  childlike  confidence  and  affec- 
tion the  maiden  put  her  right  arm  around  his 
waist  and  kept  it  there  with  a  vigor  that  was 
quite  surprising,  while  she  brought  her  left 
hand,  holding  the  big,  red-silk  handkerchief, 
so  closely  up  to  young  Mr.  Leonard's  mouth 
that  he  could  only  talk  in  a  sort  of  mumbled 
undertone.  Immediately  in  front  of  him 
towered  the  tall  Chinaman,  and  in  the  China- 
man's hand  was  a  huge  revolver. 

"You  wan'  buy  that  lill  gel?"  inquired  this 
monster,  working  the  revolver  around  until 
its  muzzle  looked  like  a  revolving  disk  in  an 
experiment  in  hypnotism. 


74  SEVEN  SMILES 

"Good  gwacious,  no!"  young  Mr.  Leonard 
was  understood  to  stammer. 

"Wha'  for  then  you  tly  mashee,  heh?" 

"Good  gwacious!"  stammered  the  youth 
again,  and  there  stuck,  feeling  yery  much  as 
if  he  would  like  to  cry. 

"Lookee  heah,  you  dam  fellah/'  said  the 
Chinaman,  throwing  open  his  month  as 
though  he  was  going  to  swallow  his  victim; 
"Me,  Qnong  Ah  Wok,  baddest  highbindeh 
San  Flancisco.  Sixteen  man-boy  like  you" — 
ticking  them  off  on  his  fingers  with  the  pistol- 
barrel— "I  kill  already  this  week.  Now  I  kill 
you,  too,  'less  you  buy  this  lill  gel  or  give  me 
hund'ed  dollah." 

"I  haven't  got  as  much  money  with  me," 
moaned  young  Mr.  Leonard. 

"How  much  you  got?"  persisted  Ah  Wok. 

"Only  about  fifty-three  dollars  and  some 
odd  cents,  don't-cber-know,"  chattered  the 
victim  behind  the  red-silk  handkerchief. 

"Lemme  have  all  you  got — dam  quick," 
said  the  terrible  Ah  Wok,  playfully  poking  the 
revolver  in  his  victim's  vest-pocket. 

Young  Mr.  Leonard  lost  no  time  in  hand- 
ing over  his  coin  and  bills,  though  the  opera- 
tion left  his  purse  as  limp  as  his  legs. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Ah  Wok,  with  a  com- 
bined movement  of  the  head,  body,  and  arms 
that  made  him  look  like  a  gigantic  crane 
about  to  take  flight — "now,  then,  young  fel- 
lah, yon  skippee  heap  fi-fi;  and,  lookee  heah, 
yon  no  say  no  word  any  one,  or  I  come — we 
all  come — kill  yon  in  your  lill  bed." 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  75 

Young  Mr.  Leonard  wanted  no  further  per- 
mission, and  the  encircling  arm  of  the  maiden 
being  released,  he  tottered  out  and  did  not  stop 
tottering  until  he  had  reached  the  hotel. 
There  he  half-frightened  mamma  to  death  by 
his  ghastliness,  but  he  attributed  it  to  "climb- 
ing so  many  bweastly  hills,"  and  after  lying 
down  for  an  hour  or  two,  with  a  bottle  of 
smelling  salts  to  his  nose,  he  was  again  able  to 
stand  on  his  feet  and  face  the  wicked  world. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  young  Mr. 
Leonard  and  his  mamma  went  to  the  First 
Bapterian  Church,  that  being  the  sect  of 
which  the  Leonards  had  always  been  strong 
supporters.  Mrs.  Leonard's  devotions  were 
considerably  interfered  with  by  the  haunting 
suspicion  that  she  knew  the  bonnet  in  front 
of  her,  and  sure  enough  when  its  wearer  hap- 
pened to  turn  round  to  see  the  singers,  who 
should  it  be  but  Mrs.  Todhunter,  also  of 
Boston. 

"Stay  after  service,  my  dear,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Todhunter,  during  one  of  the  hymns; 
"we're  going  to  have  a  treat — converted 
Chinese." 

All  the  missionary  zeal  of  the  New  Eng- 
land_er  was  stirred  at  this  hint,  and  they  stayed. 
The  first  part  in  the  appendix  to  the  service 
was  a  Chinese  Sunday-school,  and  young  Mr. 
Leonard  did  not  seem  to  be  half  as  charmed 
by  the  services  as  his  mother  had  expected 
him  to  be;  indeed,  it  was  all  he  could  do  to 


76  SEVEN  SMILES 

keep  from  sneaking  out  of  the  pew,  or  lying 
down  in  it  under  the  plea  of  being  poorly. 

He  heard  the  devout  heathen  singing  some 
horrible  travesty  of  dear  old  "Rousseau's 
Dream"  with  all  the  vigor  and  tunefulness  of 
a  blacksmith's  bellows,  and  then  he  heard  a 
resonant,  crackly  voice,  at  sound  of  which  his 
heart  melted  like  wax  within  him.  He 
glanced  fearfully  up.  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing that  ophidian  head  and  those  free  gestures 
— it  was  Quong  Ah  Wok,  the  prince  of  high- 
binders. 

He  was  telling  the  story  of  his  conversion, 
of  his  being  brought  out  of  the  darkness  and 
confusion  of  ancient  Confucianism  into  the 
perfect  clearness  of  new  Bapterianism,  and 
telling  it  with  a  redundancy  of  picturesque 
action  which  young  Mr.  Leonard  knew  only 
too  well. 

"And  now  me  cl-lean!"  cried  the  convert 
with  a  fountain-like  movement  of  the  hands 
from  the  chest  upward  and  outward;  "all 
same  cl-lean  like  snow,  while  you,  pool  sinnels, 
black  like  Melican  man's  shoe.  Come  be 
clean,  come  be  white,  then  all  go  heaven,  singy 
sing,  sing  fo-levah — amen." 

To  say  that  young  Mr.  Leonard  was  amazed 
is  but  faintly  to  express  his  condition.  He 
was  simply  stupefied,  and  it  was  in  this  stupor 
that  he  somehow  knew  his  mamma  was  taking 
him  by  the  arm  and  leading  him  up  to  the 
pulpit  platform  to  shake  hands  with  the  con- 
verted Ah  Wok. 

"So  charmed/'  he  heard  his  mamma  say, 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS. 


77 


and  then  he  felt  his  hand 
seized  in  a  bony  paw;  a  few 
quick,  low  gutturals  Avere 
spoken,  and  then  there  was  a 
thin  giggle. 

He  looked  up  perforce, 
and  there,  sitting  in  sweet 
demureness,  was  the  little 
Chinese  maiden. 

"This  my  niece,  also  one 
Clistian  gel,"  said  Ah  Wok, 
with  a  fearful  working  of  his 
mobile  jaws  and  lowering  of 
his  lids;  "you  please  shake 
hands  wif  lill  Clistian  gel." 

Young  Mr.  Leonard  put 
out  a  moist,  quivering  hand 
and  felt  it  gently  tickled  in 
the  palm.  He  ventured  a 
timid  glance  from  the  corner 
of  his  eyes  and  met  one  as 
full  of  mischief  as  is  a  mon- 
key. He  thought  of  Celes- 
tial guile,  of  his  fifty-three 
dollars,  and  sighed. 

AND   THE  MAIDEN  SMILED. 


*AWB  HB  HAS  IT   UNDER  ADVISEMENT  YET."— Page  122. 


A  FEW  FIBS. 


THE  PKOTOPLASMIC  MISADVENTUKE 
OF  HANS  JOKGENSEN. 

IN  September,  1879,  the  schooner  White 
Wave  sailed  from  San  Francisco,  bound  for 
the  North  Pacific,  there  to  shoot  sea  otter 
and  seals.  The  souls  on  board  were  few,  con- 
sisting only  of  the  captain,  Richard  Williams 
by  name  and  an  Englishman  by  birth,  although 
he  had  become  a  naturalized  citizen  of  the 
United  States,  three  sailors,  a  Chinese  cook 
and  two  sharpshooters,  one  named  Seth  Mitch- 
ell, and  a  native  of  Connecticut,  and  the 
other  called  Hans  Jorgensen,  a  Swede.  The 
White  Wave  was  built  to  stand  weather,  and 
was  as  taut  a  craft  as  ever  came  off  the  New 
Haven  stocks,  but'she  had  occasionally  to  own 
that  the  elements  were  her  superior. 

The  up  trip  was  made  in  good  time,  and 
the  fishing,  or  rather  sporting,  grounds  off  the 
Island  of  St.  George  were  reached  without  even 
encountering  a  rough  day.  About  the  last 
of  the  month,  however,  a  furious  gale  sprang 
up-suddenly  from  the  southwest  and  drove  the 
schooner  across  to  within  a  few  leagues  of 
the  Aleutian  Islands. 

According  to  the  captain's  logbook,  it  ap- 
pears that  on  the  28th  of  September,  the  White 
Wave  being  then  in  or  about  52  degrees  north 
latitude  and  168  degrees  west  longitude,  he 


82  SEVEN  SMILES 

sent  a  boat  on  shore  to  one  of  the  islands,  which 
was  quite  new  to  him,  to  look  for  water,  the 
boat's  crew  consisting  of  two  sailors  and  Hans 
Jorgensen. 

While  on  shore  the  Swede,  who  had  his  rifle 
with  him,  started  in  chase  of  a  fox.  The  gale 
was  now  blowing  due  west,  and,  as  the  captain 
found  himself  drifting,  he  made  urgent  signals 
for  the  return  of  the  boat.  Jorgensen  had  not 
come  back,  and  the  sailors,  after  deliberation, 
rowed  to  the  schooner  with  some  difficulty,  to 
acquaint  Captain  Williams  of  the  fact.  The 
captain  was  in  much  doubt  what  to  do,  when 
the  wind  settled  the  matter  by  rising  in  sud- 
den fury  and  driving  the  schooner  still  further 
westward. 

Four  days  passed  before  Captain  Williams 
was  enabled  to  return  to  the  landing  where 
Jorgensen  had  been  left,  and  it  was  with  much 
pleasure  that  the  Swede  was  found  alive  and 
well,  although  changed  in-  appearance  to  an 
extraordinary  degree. 

Jorgensen  had  a  marvelous  story  to  tell. 
The  fox  had  escaped  notwithstanding  the 
Swede's  marksmanship,  but  so  exciting  was 
the  chase  that  he  must  have  wandered  miles 
in  pursuit  before  he  gave  up  the  bushy-tailed 
game  and  thought  of  returning  to  the  boat. 
The  country  was  of  the  most  bleak  and  deso- 
late description.  Chaotic  masses  of  volcanic 
rocks  lay  around  in  confusion,  and  not  a  shrub 
or  tree  of  any  description  broke  the  desola- 
tion. Here  and  there  were  crevasses,  or  rents 
in  the  earth,  at  the  dark  bottoms  of  which 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  83 

small  but  rapid  streams  worked  a  tortuous 
course  along  their  rocky  beds,  and  beside  these 
streams  there  grew  huge  masses  of  lichen,  such 
as  Jorgensen  had  never  seen  before.  From 
other  ravines  there  arose  heavy  volumes  of 
steam,  which  impregnated  the  air  with  a  sul- 
phurous smell.  Jorgensen  was  a  man  of 
limited  imagination  though  a  good  shot,  yet 
so  impressed  was  he  with  the  horrible  and 
dismal  character  of  his  surroundings  that  he 
declared  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  look- 
ing upon  a  piece  of  the  earth  as  it  must  have 
been  before  ever  a  living  creature  put  foot 
thereon.  Progress  even  of  matter  had  not 
visited  this  spot,  which  retained  the  ghastly 
desolation  of  the  pre-Adamite  world. 

It  was  not  surprising  that  among  the  irregu- 
larities of  such  a  strange  and  broken  country 
he  should  find  some  difficulty  in  keeping  his 
way,  for,  though  by  climbing  to  the  height  of 
some  escarpment  he  was  enabled  to  see  the  sea, 
almost  as  soon  as  he  descended  from  his  look- 
out he  became  lost  in  a  maze  of  bowlder- 
strewn  cafions.  When  at  length  he  reached 
the  shore,  struggling  against  the  gale  that 
shrieked  over  both  land  and  sea,  he  saw  the 
White  Wave,  with  shortened  sail,  flying  to 
the.  westward.  He  took  in  the  situation  at 
once,  and  was  confident  that  Captain  Williams 
would  return  for  him  as  soon  as  the  storm 
abated. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait;  and 
when,  after  a  supperless  night's  camping  out, 
he  awoke  to  find  no  sign  of  the  schooner,  and 


84  SEVEN  SMILES 

a  gnawing  at  his  stomach,  it  became  necessary 
to  look  for  something  to  eat.  The  search  on 
the  near  land  was  entirely  fruitless,  and  he 
did  not  dare  to  go  far  from  the  shore  for  fear 
of  missing  the  schooner.  Shore  and  sea 
seemed  alike  unproductive,  in  this  desolate 
region,  and  Jorgensen  was  beginning  to  fear 
death  by  starvation  when  chance  provided 
him  with  food.  Weakly  crawling  to  the  sum- 
mit of  an  eminence  which  rose  about  a  half- 
mile  in  shore,  and  which  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  use  as  a  lookout,  he  was  overcome 
with  something  like  a  fainting  fit,  and  fell 
bacKward,  rolling  down  a  gulch  which  lay  on 
the  land  side.  When  he  recovered  conscious- 
ness he  found  that  the  stock  of  his  rifle,  of 
which  he  had  mechanically  retained  hold,  had 
struck  against  one  of  a  number  of  pebbly-look- 
ing objects  which  lay  around,  and  in  so  strik- 
ing had  broken  it.  The  broken  object  lay 
within  a  few  inches  of  Jorgensen's  head,  and 
he  could  see  that  the  pebble  was  in  reality  but 
a  slight  shell  of  lime  or  sulphur  or  something 
— he  was  not  geologist  enough  to  say  what — • 
covering  a  quantity  of  jelly.  It  looked  like 
Jelly,  anyhow,  to  the  famished  man,  and  rais- 
ing himself  on  his  hands  and  knees  he  took  up 
a  fragment  of  the  broken  object  and  examined 
it  closely.  This  closer  inspection  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  limeshell  showed  the  jelly  to  be 
cf  the  consistency  of  melted  glue,  to  be  of  a 
light  rose  color,  and  to  be  possessed  of  a.  rather 
acrid  smell. 

What  surprised   Jorgeuson   was,  to  notice 


AND  A  PEW  FIBS.  85 

that  although  at  first  sight  the  jelly  looked 
to  be  a  plain,  uniform  body,  the  substance 
was  in  reality  composed  of  an  infinity  of 
minute  cells,  like,  he  thought,  the  roe  of  a 
fish,  while  throughout  its  body  stretched  a 
number  of  ligaments  like  the  softest  floss  silk. 
The  Swede  touched  the  gelatinous  matter 
with  his  finger,  took  up  a  small  quantity,  put 
it  first  to  his  nose,  then  to  his  mouth,  and, 
preferring  the  chances  of  succor  or  death  by 
starvation  to  the  possibilities  of  death  by 
poisoning,  very  gingerly  applied  the  tip  of 
his  tongue  .to  the  jelly.  It  had  a  by  no  means 
pleasant  taste,  and  what  Jorgensen  swallowed 
would,  he  imagined,  not  have  killed  a  cat. 
Throwing  the  half-shell  and  its  contents  aside, 
with  an  expression  and  splutter  of  disgust, 
Jorgensen  climbed  back  to  his  post  to  watch 
for  the  White  Wave  and  life. 

Some  hours  were  passed  in  thus  waiting, 
when  overcome  by  weakness  he  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep,  from  which  he  was  awakened  by  a 
sensation  which,  he  said,  was  almost  precisely 
like  that  which  he  had  experienced  as  a  boy 
when  resuscitated  after  having  been  pulled 
out  more  than  half-drowned  from  one  of  his 
native  fjords.  The  acute  tingling  sensation 
was  once  more  felt,  and  it  seemed  as  though 
the  pains  of  a  new  life  were  upon  him.  What 
Astonished  him  was  to  find  that  when  the 
tinglings  had  passed  away  the  hunger-cravings 
had  entirely  gone;  he  felt  strong  and  re- 
freshed. 

At  first  he  was  inclined  to  be  suspicious  of 


86  SEVEN  SMILES 

this  release  of  pain  and  new  vigor,  thinking  it 
to  be  but  the  glow  of  the  spark  before  extinc- 
tion; but  when  he  found  himself  enabled  to 
walk  miles  without  fatigue,  and  was  troubled 
with  no  more  inconvenience  from  his  long 
fast,  he  became  convinced  that  his  hunger  had 
been  appeased.  In  searching  for  the  cause 
he  naturally  could  but  think  of  the  gelati- 
nous matter  which  he  had  tasted.  To  imagine, 
however,  that  the  infinitesimal  quantity  of 
this  remarkable  substance,  if  indeed  he  had 
swallowed  any  at  all,  could  have  produced  such 
astonishing  results,  seemed  highly  absurd. 

The  next  day,  after  having  wandered  up 
and  down  the  bleak  country  and  along  the 
desolate  shore  without  any  symptoms  of  weari- 
ness, he  again  visited  the  gulch  where  he  had 
found  the  glutinous  deposit.  The  supposed 
pebble  which  had  been  broken  in  his  fall  lay 
there  as  he  had  left  it,  but  the  contents  had 
altered  in  condition  and  were  now  but  a  dry, 
viscid  film.  Jorgensen  was  shrewd  enough  to 
put  this  change  down  as  due  to  the  action  of 
the  air,  and  saw  that  if  he  wished  to  experi- 
ment he  would  have  to  do  so  with  a  freshly 
broken  pebble.  Selecting  one  of  the  chalk- 
looking  stones,  he  carefully  broke  the  crust 
and  found  that  it  also  contained  a  small 
quantity  of  the  rose-tinted  jelly  of  which  he 
was  in  search.  With  characteristic  caution,  he 
again  but  touched  his  tongue  to  the  matter, 
and  then  gathered  the  remaining  pebbles  to- 
gether and  placed  them  under  the  projecting 
ledge  for  safe  keeping. 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  87 

The  results  of  the  second  taste  were  equally 
as  wonderful  as  those  which  had  attended 
the  first  essay.  Again  came  a  deep  sleep,  out 
of  which  he  was  awakened  by  the  intense 
tingling  in  every  nerve  of  his  body.  This  ex- 
quisite pain  having  passed,  Jorgensen  lay 
where  he  had  slept,  as  though  in  a  half -dream, 
thinking  idly  of  his  adventure.  He  felt  no 
hunger,  but  rather  a  state  of  mental  and 
bodily  ease.  The  only  explanation  that  he 
could  arrive  at  concerning  the  mysterious  food 
of  which  he  had  partaken  was  that  it  must 
have  been  something  prepared  by  the  native 
Indians  for  sustenance  during  long  journeys, 
and  that  he  had  accidentally  discovered  either 
a  cache  of  such  material  or  a  store  of  it  which 
had  been  overlooked. 

But  a  new  surprise  was  awaiting  him,  for 
when  he  rose  to  shake  the  sleep  from  his  limbs 
what  was  his  astonishment  to  find  his  clothes 
so  tight  upon  him  that  he  moved  with  diffi- 
culty in  them.  His  great  sea-boots  seemed 
several  sizes  too  small,  and  the  sleeves  of  his 
knitted  cardigan  jacket  were  almost  up  to  his 
ilbows.  Euefully  contemplating  this  shrink- 
age of  what  he  had  hitherto  considered  good 
material,  he  stooped  down  to  pick  up  his  rifle, 
when  he  was  thunderstruck  to  find  that  it  too 
had  shrunk.  At  any  rate  his  good  Henry, 
which,  before  he  had  gone  to  sleep,  reached 
just  up  to  his  armpit,  was  now  scarcely  chest 
high.  Moreover,  it  seemed  as  light  in  his 
hands  as  a  feather. 

Jorgensen  was  bewildered,  and   for  a  mo- 


88  SEVEN  SMILES 

ment  imagined  himself  crazy.  Then  the  old 
Norse  superstition  took  hold  of  him  and  he 
believed  himself  bewitched.  Taking  out  his 
jackknife  to  cut  a  few  holes  in  his  too  snugly 
fitting  shoes,  he  found  it  to  lie  in  his  hand 
like  a  lady's  penknife.  Then  he  knew  that 
the  metal  and  fabric  had  not  dwarfed,  but 
that  he  himself  had  stretched  and  grown 
under  the  influence  of  the  wonderful  food. 
His  physical  strength  had  kept  pace  with  his 
increased  bulk,  and  he  amused  himself,  as 
he  confessed,  by  breaking  off  large  fragments 
of  rock  and  hurling  them  into  the  sea.  It  was 
while  engaged  in  this  Cyclopean  pastime  that 
he  saw  the  White  Wave  bearing  down  the 
coast  and  signaling  with  the  little  brass  piece 
she  carried.  Jorgensen  replied  with  his  rifle 
and  then  hastily  ran  to  where  the  peculiar 
pebbles  lay,  loaded  his  pockets  with  them  and 
was  back  on  the  beach  in  time  to  direct  the 
boat's  course  to  where  he  stood. 

I  pass  over  the  astonishment  of  his  ship- 
mates at  his  extraordinary  appearance  and  at 
the  story  of  Jorgensen,  but  quote  a  few  of  the 
captain's  words,  because  they  are  brief  and  to 
the  point:  "When  Jorgensen  went  on  shore," 
said  Captain  Williams,  in  conversation  with 
the  writer,  "he  was  a  short,  spare  man,  of 
about  five  feet  seven,  with  a  bald  head,  a  thin, 
straw-colored  mustache,  and  looked  all  of  his 
age,  which  he  said  was  forty-seven.  When 
he  cam.e  on  board  lie  was  bloated  or  swollen  or 
something  so  much  that  he  looked  to  be  about 
six  feet  high;  was  grovved  so  stout  that  he  had 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  89 

burst  all  his  clothes;  had  a  new  crop  of  fluffy 
hair  over  his  face  and  head,  and  had  aged 
about  ten  years.  Why,  sir,  his  own  mother 
wouldn't  ha'  knowed  him,  and  I  weren't  sur- 
prised that  his  mates  thought  they  had  struck 
the  wrong  man  when  they  see  that  object  on 
the  beach."  Jorgensen  told  his  story,  which 
Captain  Williams  at  first  utterly  discredited, 
but  which  he  afterward  wrote  out  in  full,  at- 
testing its  genuineness  by  the  line  that — 

"The  above  was  as  near  as  we  could  reckilect 
the  statement  made  by  the  said  Hans  Jorgen- 
sen before  us  as  witnesses  thereto." 

RICHARD  WILLIAMS, 
(Master  of  schooner  White  Wave). 
SETH  MITCHELL, 

(Sharpshooter). 

It  is  from  this  statement  that  the  above 
narrative  has  been  taken;  indeed,  except  in 
the  matter  of  some  necessary  corrections  of 
spelling  and  alterations  of  expression,  there  is 
no  material  difference  between  the  two.  It 
was,  in  fact,  at  Captain  Williams'  request  that 
his  story  has  been,  as  he  styles  it,  "iixed  up." 

It  is  with  his  permission,  however,  that  the 
following  extract  .from  the  log  of  the  White 
Wave  is  literally  transcribed: 

"October  3,  1879.— Latitude  57  degrees  47 
minutes  north;  longitude  144  degrees  10 
minutes  west.  Jorgensen  is  dead  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  it.  Ever  since  he  came 


90  SEVEN  SMILES 

aboard  from  the  island  his  helth  have  been 
good,  but  the  remarkable  swellin  have  gone 
on  until  yesterday  we  was  obliged  to  bring 
him  up  on  deck,  as  he  had  growed  so  that  I 
was  afeared  we  should  not  be  able  to  get  him 
through  the  companionway.  I  was  sitting 
beside  him  when  he  died,  and  had  just  asked 
him,  How  do  you  feel  now?  He  said  all  over 
pins  and  needles  like.  I  said,  No  pain  be- 
sides? He  said  no,  but  I  feel  like  as  if  every- 
thing was  a  stretching  and  growing  inside  of 
me.  Guess  I'm  poisoned.  I  said  I  guess  so, 
too.  Just  then  I  hear  a  crack  inside  of  him, 
then  another  and  another,  three  in  all.  He 
clapped  his  hands  to  his  heart,  his  chest  and 
his  stumik,  give  one  grone  and  died.  For 
curiosity  I  measured  him  and  find  he  is  six 
feet  eight  inches  long  and  big  in  proportion. 

''October  4,  1879.— Latitude  54  degrees  25 
minutes  north;  longitude  144  degrees  50  min- 
utes west.  Have  just  buried  poor  Jorgensen. 
When  I  wont  down  to  pick  up  his  kit  I  found 
in  his  bunk  as  many  as  a  dozen,  I  should  think, 
of  them  dam  stones,  or  whatever  they  be, 
which  he  had  brought  on  board  with  him  from 
the  island.  Three  was  cracked  open,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  he  had  eaten  some  more 
of  the  gelly  poisin,  which  he  must  have  got  a 
taste  for,  and  which  had  brought  on  the  swell- 
ing that  killed  him.  I  pitched  a  handful  of 
the  cussed  things  overboard,  and  was  about  to 
send  them  all  to  the  fishes  when  the  idee  sud- 
dinly  struck  me  that  I  would  keep  part  of  a 
broken  one  and  send  it  to  Mr.  Ferris.  Alto- 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  91 

gether  it's  the   rummiest  case  I  ever  came 
across. " 

This  Mr.  Ferris,  the  captain  has  explained, 
•was  the  son  of  the  owner  of  the  property  in 
England  on  which  he  (Captain  Williams)  had 
been  born  and  was  a  gentleman  who  had  given 
himself  up  to  science  and  philosophy.  Cap- 
tain Williams  had  already  sent  him  some  queer 
odds  and  ends  gathered  in  his  various  travels, 
and  considered  that  a  fragment  of  the  strange 
articles  which  had  played  such  an  important 
part  in  poor  Hans  Jorgensen's  career  would 
be  acceptable.  (Mr.  Ferris  will  doubtless  be 
recognized  as  the  celebrated  Professor  Michael 
Ferris,  F.R.S.,  author  of  "The  First  Princi- 
ples of  the  Cell  Theory,"  and  one  of  TyndalFs 
most  promising  disciples.) 

The  fragment  was  carefully  packed  and  sent 
to  Professor  Ferris,  who,  in  acknowledging  its 
receipt,  wrote  the  following  letter,  which  I 
am  permitted  to  publish: 

"142  PARK  Row,  CHELTENHAM,  ) 
January  22,  1880.  j 

"My  DEAR  WILLIAMS:  The  box  with  its 
contents  came  to  hand  safely  enough;  but 
what  an  unsatisfactory  fellow  you  are!  You 
should  have  written'  me  every  detail  concern- 
ing your  late  friend  Jorgensen's  adventure, 
described  his  appearance  minutely  at  the  time 
of  his  death  and  told  me  the  facts  concerning 
the  affair,  even  if  it  had  kept  you  back  a 
whole  season.  Above  all,  you  should  have 


92  SEVEN  SMILES 

sent  me  all  those  precious  deposits  instead  of 
pitching  them  like  a  heathen  into  the  sea. 

"I  don't  know  if  you  are  aware  of  it,  Captain 
Williams,  but  when  you  threw  those  'cussed 
stones'  into  the  Alaska  Sea  you  threw  away 
my  chance  of  becoming  immortal.  Jn  re- 
venge I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell  you,  in  the 
hardest  language  I  can  think  of,  what  those 
'cussed  stones'  contain.  Are  you  aware,  sir, 
that  they  had  been  lying  in  that  desert  Aleu- 
tian isle  for  more  thousands  of  years  than  you 
could  ever  dream  of?  Do  you  know,  sir,  that 
they  contained  the  elements  of  life  from 
which,  cycles  of  years  before  Adam  was  born, 
the  first  living  things  sprung  into  existence? 

"Do  you  know,  sir,  that  if  it  had  not  been 
for  some  volcanic  action  whereby  those  masses 
of  jelly  were  prisoned  up  in  their  silicious  shell, 
from  them  would  have  sprung  the  beginnings 
of  a  life  which,  going  on  from  stage  to  stage, 
from  embryo  to  perfection,  might  in  time 
have  peopled  the  world? 

"Do  you  know,  Captain  Williams,  that  there 
lay  in  those  'cussed  stones'  a  collection  of 
energies  of  the  vital  order  in  which  forces 
would  have  become  forms,  going  on  inces- 
santly producing  and  multiplying  new  forces 
and  new  forms,  and  that  I  and  my  masters 
would  have  given  our  heads  to  have  been  able 
to  make  the  discovery  which  brought  Jorgen- 
sen  to  his  death? 

"Do  you  know  what  Jorgensen  discovered, 
Captain  Williams?  He  discovered  the  begin- 
ning of  cosmic  energies,  he  discovered  a  price- 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  93 

less  microcosm;  it  was  Protoplasm  that  he 
tasted,  and  he  tasted  enough  to  stock  a 
province,  with  anything  from  a  tadpole  to  a 
megaceros. 

"It  is  no  wonder,  I  think,  that  Jorgensen 
died,  and  it  is  no  wonder  either  that  I  sign 
myself 

"Your  grievously  disappointed  friend, 
"MICHAEL  FEKKIS." 


DOWN  TO  THE  MEDULLA. 

ON  September  5,  1878,  the  town  of  Ario», 
in  Peru,  was  startled  by  the  commission  of  a 
most  dastardly  murder.  Francisco  Hansa,  in 
a  fit  of  jealous  anger,  brutally  decapitated  his 
sweetheart  with  an  ax.  He  was  tried  and 
sentenced  to  be  executed  by  the  garrote,  when 
Dr.  Manuel  Pedro  Deranogozo,  formerly  a 
professor  of  anatomy  in  the  University  of 
Lima,  Pern,  who  was  then,  as  he  had  been  for 
years,  engaged  in  his  studies  on  the  nerve 
centers,  made  a  strange  application  to  Presi- 
dent Prado. 

The  application  was  nothing  less  than  that, 
as  the  murderer  Hansa  had  forfeited  his  life, 
instead  of  being  executed  he  should  be  given 
up  to  the  applicant,  who  intended  to  make 
him  the  subject  of  certain  experiments.  The 
result  of  these  experiments,  Dr.  Deranogozc 
said,  might  possibly  prove  fatal  to  the  subject> 
in  which  case  he  would  only  suffer  the  just 
penalty  of  his  crime,  while  the  researches 
would  positively  be  valuable  as  a  contribution 
to  a  branch  of  medical  science  which,  from  the 
very  force  of  circumstances,  could  be  but  very 
imperfectly  entered  into,  unless  some  such 
exceptional  opportunity  as  this  were  availed  of. 

President  Prado  took  the  matter  under  con- 
sideration, and  the  result  was  that,  as  the 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  95 

document  of  custody  read  "in  the  interest  of 
science,  the  body  of  the  said  Francisco  Ilansa 
was  delivered  up  to  Dr.  Deranogozo,  to  be 
by  him  used  as  he  saw  fit."  A  private  execu- 
tion was  announced,  and  so  far  as  the  Peruvian 
public  knew  Hansa  suffered  capital  punish' 
ment  January  3,  1879. 

The  very  morning  on  which  Deranogozo  be- 
came the  custodian  of  the  prisoner,  he  com- 
menced his  researches. 

"The  night  before  the  date  of  the  supposed 
execution,"  said  the  doctor  when  relating  his 
story  to  the  writer,  on  the  eve  of  his  departure 
for  the  East,  en  route  to  Europe,  "I  had 
caused  a  strong  opiate  to  be  administered  to 
Hansa,  so  that  when  the  two  officers  of  the 
law  laid  their  burden  on  the  table  of  my  dis- 
secting-room, it  was  inert  and  senseless.  The 
subject  was  a  huge  muscular  man  of  about 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  with  a  strong,  desper- 
ate, but  not  normally  evil  face.  I  must  own," 
avowed  the  doctor,  "that  I  felt  nervous  when  I 
considered  what  the  results  might  be  if  such  a 
character  were  brought  to  consciousness  by 
my  Avork,  and  if  he  should  struggle  with  me 
for  his  life  and  liberty. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you  here  that  I  had  for 
aim,  to  prove  at  onco,  definitely  and  forever, 
either  that  a  man  could  or  could  not  live  after 
the  removal  of  his  brain. 

"With  the  cases  in  which  this  removal  had 
been  partially  and  brutally  effected  by  accident 
or  on  the  battlefield,  I  was,  of  course,  ac- 
quainted; but  I  had  never  considered  that 


96  SEVEN  SMILES 

these  cases  were  in  the  least  satisfactory. 
What  I  wanted  done,  and  what  for  the  first 
time  in  the  history  of  the  world  I  was  about  to 
do,  was  to  carefully,  scientifically  and  grad- 
ually remove  the  human  brain.  You  will  of 
course  at  once  see,  too,  that  by  my  experi- 
ments the  science  of  phrenology  would  be  for 
the  first  time  legitimately  tested. 

"Of  course  I  was  familiar  with  the  result  of 
the  experiments  made  by  Flourens,  the  Apos- 
tle of  Vivisection,  and  I  had  followed  in  the 
footsteps  of  Louget,  Onimus,  Bouilland  and 
Goltz,  while  where  Vulpiau  had  boldly  gone  I 
had  unhesitatingly  marched  after.  Since 
1869  I  had  experimented  on  the  lower  animals, 
but  even  the  removal  of  the  cerebral  hemi- 
spheres of  a  dog  did  not  satisfy  me.  I  found 
that  the  animals  thus  operated  upon — muti- 
lated, if  you  will — had  in  some  instances  re- 
tained general  sensibility  and  power  of  volun- 
tary movement,  but  had  lost  the  use  of  the 
senses  of  sight,  hearing,  taste  and  smell.  In 
the  case  of  other  animals  I  found  that  the 
removal  of  one  or  part  of  both  hemispheres 
was  followed  by  no  marked  effects  as  regarded 
the  intelligence  or  instinct  of  the  animal,  but 
that  an  incapability  of  spontaneous  voluntary 
movement  was  the  result. 

"The  brain  of  a  man  was  still  an  unexplored 
field,  for  hitherto  the  experiments  had  been 
made  post  mortem  and  had  only  resulted  in 
showing  the  possible  cause  of  an  effect  pre- 
viously visible.  To  be  sure,"  continued  the 
doctor,  with  growing  enthusiasm,  "I  knevy 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  97 

that  a  person  may  lose  part  of  his  brain  and 
yet  not  exhibit  any  mental  deficiency  or  dis- 
order. I  knew,  too,  that  there  had  been  cases 
— indeed,  one  had  come  under  my  own  notice 
— where  one  hemisphere  may  do  the  work  of 
the  whole  cephalic  ganglion.  But  all  this  only 
pointed  to,  without  touching,  the  great  point 
at  which  I  aimed. 

"At  last  I  was  going  to  see  whether  the  sup- 
position that  certain  parts  of  the  brain,  bound 
together  as  they  are  by  commissional  fibers,  or 
fibers  ot  association,  have  in  reality  separate 
and  peculiar  properties  and  functions.  I  was 
going  to  see  what  would  be  the  result  of  the 
extirpation  of  one  or  more  of  the  brain's  con- 
volutions, leaving  the  others  intact  as  far  as 
possible.  I  was  going  to  carry  this  remark- 
able work  to  an  extent  that  no  one  had  done 
more  than  dream  of.  In  a  word,  I  was  going 
to  try  whether  the  brain  was  the  center  of  all 
thought  and  action,  and  prove,  by  actual 
fingering  of  the  instrument,  whether  the 
whitey  mass  we  so  proudly  use  as  a  figure  of 
speech  for  all  that  is  intelligent,  progressive, 
learned,  even  godlike,  is  really  the  sounding- 
strings  that  set  a  world  vibrating,  or  only  the 
keyboard  which  is  simply  an  admirably  con- 
structed but  purely  mechanical  system  of 
leverage." 

The  doctor's  manner  had  grown  more  and 
more  excited  as  he  was  uttering  the  above 
words.  The  eyes  sparkled,  the  nostrils 
dilated,  and  he  took  off  his  hat  to  rub  his 
thick  crop  of  hair  that  actually  seemed  to 


98  SEVEN  SMILES 

bristle.  Quieting  down  as  suddenly,  however, 
lie  drew  a  cigarette  from  his  pocket  and  hav- 
ing lighted  it  continued  as  follows: 

"Looking  at  Hansa,"  he  said,  "who  was  to 
involuntarily  aid  me  in  these  immense  re- 
searches, I  fancied  I  detected  a  slight  tremor 
of  his  eyelids.  I  immediately  applied  a  strong 
anaesthetic  to  his  nostrils,  and  propping  up 
his  head  and  shoulders,  commenced  to  work. 
The  prisoner's  hair  was  already  cut  short,  or 
cropped,  as  you  say,  and  a  few  strokes  of  the 
razor  cleared  out  a  blue-black  space  behind 
the  left  ear  and  at  the  base  of  the  occiput. 
Exactly,  you  are  right:  I  was  about  to  make 
my  first  move  by  destroying  his  combativeness. 
A  necessary  precaution,  since,  as  you  see,  lam 
a  small  man,  and  Hansa  had  made  for  himself 
a  forbidding  reputation  by  his  ferocious  con- 
duct while  under  confinement.  Some,  I  have 
no  doubt,  would  immediately  have  annihilated 
the  cerebellum,  and  so  at  one  stroke  have  de- 
stroyed the  president  of  voluntary  movement, 
but  I  preferred  to  go  step  by  step  gently  to 
work.  Close  at  hand  on  the  operating  table 
were  my  silver  plates  and  a  specially  con- 
structed trepan  of  large  size. 

"Making  a  cross  incision  in  the  scalp  that 
overlay  the  protuberance  that  was  in  itself  an 
evidence  of  the  truth  of  phrenology,  I  laid 
back  the  skin  and  set  my  crown  saw  to  work. 
The  skull  was  of  unusual  thickness,  but  my 
hand  seemed  gifted  with  unaccustomed  vigor, 
and  the  round  piece  of  bone  was  soon  lifted 
from  its  position.  Very  delicately  I  severed 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS,  99 

the  tough,  pearly-white  dura-mater,  removed 
the  web-like  arachnoid,  and  then  hesitated  a 
moment  as  the  soft  pia-mater  allowed  me  to 
see  the  brain  beneath.  It  was  but  a  moment's 
hesitation,  however,  and  separating  as  well  as 
I  could  the  particular  convolution  of  which  I 
was  in  search,  I  did  my  best  to  keep  the  knife 
from  the  larger  blood-vessels,  and  the  next  in- 
stant Hausa  was  minus  the  first  portion  of  his 
brain. 

"I  had  barely  time  to  apply  a  styptic,  set 
in  my  silver  plate  and  bandage  his  head,  when 
my  subject  awoke  to  consciousness.  He  sat 
up,  looked  around,  carried  his  hand  to  his 
head,  and  then  asked  if  he  were  in  hell  or 
heaven. 

"I  had  my  story  prepared,  and  told  him 
that  a  friend  had  attempted  to  rescue  him 
during  the  past  night  while  asleep,  but  that 
before  he  was  awakened  the  guards  had  be- 
come alarmed,  and  in  a  struggle  he,  Hansa, 
had  received  a  blow  from  the  butt-end  of  a 
carbine,  which,  it  was  thought,  had  been 
fatal.  'In  this  belief,'  I  said,  'you  were 
brought  to  me  as  a  dead  body,  and  as  I  am 
Dr.  Deranogozo,  professor  of  anatomy,  you 
may  divine  the  purposes  for  which  you  are 
here,,'  I  concluded  pointedly. 

"The  poor  wretch  leaped  from  the  table  and 
fell  on  his  knees  at  my  feet.  'And  now,'  said 
he,  'now  that  you  have  discovered  me  to  be 
alive,  you  will  not  give  me  back  to  the  execu- 
tioner?' 

"  'No,'  I  said  assuringly,  'you  are  safe  with 


1 00  SE  YEN  SMILES 

me,  but  you  must  remain  here  as  quietly  as 
possible  for  some  time,  until,  indeed,  I  think 
it  safe  for  you  to  leave.' 

"He  would  do  anything,  he  said,  and  the 
desperate,  brutal  man  became  from  that  time 
one  of  the  most  docile  of  servants.  He  did 
my  bidding,  it  is  true,  as  obediently  as  a  child, 
but  even  after  the  fever  consequent  on  the 
operation  had  subsided  he  displayed  an  almost 
infantile  irritability  toward  inanimate  objects 
with  which  he  might  happen  to  come  in  con- 
tact. Every  day,  almost  every  hour,  and  this 
even  in  my  presence,  he  would  break,  tear  or 
somehow  destroy  whatever  article  he  could  lay 
hands  on.  Keasoned  with,  he  would  express 
both  sorrow  and  surprise,  for  he  declared  he 
never  remembered  having  been  so  clumsy  be- 
fore, and  once  he  stated,  after  having  swept 
a  statuette  from  its  place,  that  his  action  fol- 
lowed an  unaccountable  and  ungovernable 
impulse. 

"This  set  me  thinking,  and  I  soon  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  removal  of  the  con- 
volution of  combativeness  had  resulted  in  an 
irritation  or  inflammation  of  its  neighbor,  the 
convolution  of  destructiveness.  It  was  just 
when  I  came  to  this  conclusion  that  my  patient 
was  seized  with  a  new  freak.  He  became  a 
veritable  magpie,  and  now  hid  as  persistently 
as  he  had  broken.  But  instead  of  puzzling 
me,  this  second  trick  convinced  me  that  1  was 
right  in  my  surmise,  and  I  became  sure  that 
the  irritation  had  spread  to  the  organ  of  secre- 
tiveness.  Especially  was  I  certain  of  this 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  101 

when  I  noticed  a  disposition  on  Hansa's  part 
to  conceal  his  intentions.  Fearful  as  to  the 
result  which  this  novel  trait  might  bring  about 
if  left  unchecked,  I  resolved  to  eradicate  the 
cause. 

"Under  a  trivial  pretext,  therefore,  I  made 
him  inhale  chloroform,  and  for  the  second 
time  visited  the  interior  of  my  patient's  cra- 
nium. This  time,  to  make  matters  sure,  I 
trepanned  both  sides,  and  removed  from  the 
right  and  left  of  the  brain  the  convolutions  of 
destructiveness  and  secretiveness.  The  opera- 
tion was  successfully  conducted,  but  although 
I  supposed  my  explanation  to  him  that  the 
new  smarting  places  on  his  head  were  due  to 
a  necessary  treatment  of  the  old  wound,  which, 
I  informed  him,  had  begun  to  look  a  little 
ugly,  would  be  sufficient,  Hansa  seemed  to 
listen  to  the  explanation  with  a  marked  lack 
of  credence.  Several  times  after  that  I  caught 
him  eying  me  attentively,  and  it  was  very 
evident  that  Hansa's  suspicions  were  aroused. 
He  would  not  even  allow  me  to  replace  the  band- 
ages on  his  head,  and  it  was  only  when  a 
fever  set  in,  accompanied  by  delirium,  that  I 
was  enabled  to  make  an  examination. 

"I  removed  one  of  the  last  fixed  silver 
plates,  and  on  inspecting  the  lessened  brain, 
found,  as  I  had  surmised,  that  the  convolu- 
tion of  cautiousness,  which  lies  directly  above 
that  of  secretiveness,  was  in  a  highly  inflamed 
condition.  I  would  have  remedied  this  at 
once,  but  that  I  was  afraid  what  the  conse- 
quences of  further  vivisection  might  be  upon 


102  SEVEN  SMILES 

Hansa  in  his  then  weakened  state.  I  watched 
him  carefully,  in  fact,  I  may  say  tenderly, 
for  eight  weeks,  at  the  end  of  which  time  he 
was  convalescent.  It  was  not,  however,  until 
three  months  after  that  I  determined  to  push 
my  experiments  further.  I  decided  to  make 
a  grand  coup.  'This  trepanning  business,'  I 
said  to  myself,  'is  too  confined  in  its  results; 
it  does  not  give  me  liberty  of  action;  I  must 
have  full  access  to  the  seat  of  my  researches.' 
Besides,  I  was  convinced  that  the  settling  of 
the  brain  to  fill  up  the  vacancies  caused  by  re- 
moval would  stand  as  a  difficulty  in  the  way 
of  my  proceeding  further  upon  a  phrenolog- 
ical basis. 

"So  I  had  an  ivory  dome  made  to  fit  in 
place  of  the  crown  of  Hansa's  skull.  He  was 
reduced  to  insensibility,  and  while  he  was  un- 
able to  move  hand  or  foot,  I  plied  my  instru- 
ments to  such  good  effect  that  in  a  very  few 
minutes  the  whole  upper  portion  of  the 
parietal  bones  was  removed  for  an  oval  space 
of  four  by  six  inches.  The  braiL  that  re- 
mained seemed  surprisingly  active  an*1  healthy, 
and  I  could  not  help  a  smile  as  I  remembered 
the  words  of  the  English  poet,  Shakespeare,  that 

The  times  have  been 

That,  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  wouud  die, 
And  there  an  end. 

"I  smiled,  too,  as  one  by  one  I  rp«-xoved 
what  I  judged  to  be  the  convolutions  of  self- 
esteem,  cautiousness  and  firmness,  to  tl*>nk 
how  thoroughly  I  was  making  Kansa  a  crea- 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  103 

ture  of  my  own.  Talk  about  Frankenstein — 
why,  his  horrible  manufacture  followed  no 
will  but  its  abominable  own,  while  here  was 
I  bending  some  one  else's  work  to  my  own 
volition.  Frankenstein  modeled  an  image  out 
of  ghastly  clay  and  then  had  to  flee  from  his 
monument  of  dread;  1  was  taking  a  statue 
cast  by  a  superior  power  and  remodeling  it  to 
suit  my  convenience,  my  fancy  if  you  will. 

"I  shall  not  weary  you,"  said  the  doctor  on 
the  third  day  of  our  acquaintance — for  it  must 
not  be  understood  that  all  the  above  informa- 
tion was  gained  during  a  single  interview — "I 
shall  not  weary  you  by  relating  in  detail  all 
the  events  that  attended  the  succession  of  ex- 
periments which  followed;  nor  shall  I  give 
you  the  opinion  that  I  am  a  pedant  by  indulg- 
ing in  a  long,  learned  talk  upon  the  various 
psychological  and  mental  phenomena  which 
accompanied  this  denudation  of  the  home  of 
intellect.  Let  it  be  sufficient  for  you  to  know 
that  with  all  the  ardor — and  heartlessness,  if 
you  will — of  a  scientist,  I  again  and  again  ex- 
plored Hansa's  skull  and  removed  organ  after 
organ  of  mentality,  until  he  became  a  being 
without  love  or  hatred,  without  hope  or  de- 
spair, without  veneration  or  irreverence,  with- 
out imagination  or  ideas  of  any  sort — in  fact,  a 
brainless  creature,  an  animal  without  even  an- 
imal tastes,  a  man  without  a  thought,  a  somfc- 
thing  absolutely  without  sense,  one  who  from 
being  'a  little  lower  than  the  angels,'  had 
been  brought  down  infinitely  beneath  the 'brute 
beast  that  perisheth.' " 


104  SEVEN  SMILES 

''And  he  still  lived?"  I  asked  in  wonder. 

"Still  lived!"  echoed  the  excited  doctor, 
lifting  his  right  hand  high  up  and  then  bring-' 
ing  it  smartly  down  upon  the  open  palm  of  his 
left,  "He  still  lives,  sir!" 

Here  I  saw  a  way  to  arrive  at  a  coveted  end, 
and  half-seriously,  half-sarcastically,  as  if  the 
statement  were  a  good  joke  and  nothing  else, 
I  professed  utter  disbelief  in  the  statement. 
Dr.  Deranogozo  at  once  took  fire,  and,  in- 
vited me  to  accompany  him  to  his  room. 
While  proceeding  there  the  doctor  explained 
the  reason  of  his  coming  to  San  Francisco. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "of  the  troubles 
which  have  fallen  upon  my  unhappy  country. 
The  political  and  then  military  disturbances 
interfered  seriously  with  my  peaceful  labors. 
Pierola  was  no  friend  of  mine,  I  did  not  know 
when  the  cursed  Chileans  might  follow  up  our 
disasters  at  Pisagua,  Angamos  and  Iquique  by 
an  attack  on  Callao,  and  being  a  native  of  San 
Francisco — not  this  San  Francisco,  but  our 
San  Francisco  in  Peru — I  took  heed  of  the 
coincidence  and  resolved  to  quit  South 
America  and  come  here.  I  left  Peru  early  in 
December  last,  the  interval  between  this  and 
that  time  having  been  spent  at  Punta  Arena, 
where  I  have  a  brother  living." 

"And  do  you  intend  remaining  here?"  I 
asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  the  doctor,  'I  go  East 
— that  is,  ive  go  East  to-morrow  morning,  and 
after  staying  a  short  time  in  New  York,  I 
shall  proceed  to  Europe,  and  there,  before  the 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  105 

great  learned  societies,  exhibit  my  man  with- 
out brains  and  gain  immortality." 

Here  the  door  of  the  room  was  reached,  and 
opening  it  the  doctor  ushered  me  in.  Carefully 
closing  it  behind  us  he  led  the  way  into  an 
inside  room,  the  door  of  which  was  locked, 
and  at  length  I  was  in  the  presence  of  the 
mystery. 

Lying  stretched  on  the  bed  was  the  figure  of 
a  tall  young  man,  whose  closed  eyes  and 
slowly  heaving  chest  showed  him  to  be  sleep- 
ing. So,  at  least,  I  thought,  and  said  as  much, 
but  Dr.  Deranogozo  only  laughed  and  said, 
"Oh,  dear,  no,  that  is  his  normal  condition." 

Approaching,  the  doctor  drew  down  a  shawl 
which  covered  the  lower  portion  of  the  young 
man's  body,  and  asking  me  to  feel  the  well- 
filled  limbs,  said,  "You  see,  he  is  by  no  means 
a  skeleton." 

No  movement  was  made  of  the  body  as  the 
limbs  were  touched,  nor  had  the  brown, 
slightly  bearded  face  altered  one  whit  in  its 
awful  vacuity — not  of  expression,  but  of  every- 
thing approaching  it. 

"And  now,"  cried  the  doctor  with  an  air  of 
triumph,  "See  where  I,  Manuel  Pedro  Deran- 
nogozo,  have  scooped  out  a  man's  brains  as  a 
monkey  might  scoop  out  a  cocoanut." 

With  this,  while  I  could  not  keep  down  a 
nervous  shiver,  the  doctor  took  off  a  black 
velvet  cap  from  the  unconscious,  witless, 
brainless  young  man  and  displayed  a  glisten- 
ing, ivory  cover  of  oval  form  which  fitted  like 
a  lid  in  Hansa's  skull.  Lifting  it  by  a  small 


106  SEVEN  SMILES 

ebony  button,  the  anatomist  took  from  the 
interior  a  quantity  of  soft  lint,  which  he  said 
was  necessary  to  keep  out  the  cold,  raised  the 
patient  into  a  sitting  posture  and  asked  me  to 
"look  in." 

What  had  been  the  seat  of  fancies  good  and 
bad,  of  faculties,  aspirations  and  passions,  was 
now  only  an  empty  sphere,  which  rattled  like  a 
box  under  the  doctor's  finger-nails.  A  silver 
plate  covered  the  bottom  of  the  interior  to 
protect  the  medulla  oblongata,  but  save  for 
that  the  skull  was  just  like  that  to  which  it 
had  been  compared — a  scooped-out  cocoanut. 

"Can  he  hear  us?"  I  asked,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  as  the'cover  was  put  back  in  its  place. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  answered  the  doctor,  al- 
most wearily,  "nor  am  I  certain  whether  he 
possesses  any  sensibility  whatever.  You  see 
the  fact  is  that  my  encroachments  have  gone 
so  far  that  not  only  are  the  paths  of  association 
broken  up,  but  the  centers  themselves  of  ideas 
also.  When  I  feed  him  it  is  with  the  food 
rolled  into  pellets,  washed  down  by  whatever 
liquor  is  handy;  but  except  for  the  conse- 
quences of  indigestion,  I  might  just  as  well 
feed  him  with  pebbles  and  ammonia.  I  shout 
into  his  ear,  or  I  fire  off  a  pistol  close  to  it, 
but  I  am  not  sure  whether  he  hears,  because 
he  makes  no  motion  of  having  heard.  Still 
he  may  hear,  yet  have  no  idea  of  the  impres- 
sion caused.  The  question  of  the  relation  be- 
tween sense  and  sensibility  is  here  more  than 
over  unsolved.  I  cover  him  with  extra  cloth- 
ing, because  applying  a  thermometer  to  his 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  107 

body  I  find  it  marks  only  60  degrees.  After 
being  covered  his  body  heat  is  79  degrees,  but 
whether  he  feels  that  warmth  I  cannot  say.  I 
place  eau-de-cologne  under  one  nostril  and 
assafoatida  under  the  other;  but  whether  he 
smells  both  or  either  I  do  not  know.  I  place 
him  on  his  feet,  and  while  he  may  walk  for- 
ward, he  is  just  as  liable  to  fall  down  back- 
ward." 

"Then,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  I  hesitatingly, 
"that  this  man  without  brains  is  just  as  great 
a  mystery  as  he  was  with  brains." 

Dr.  Deranogozo  remained  silent  a  moment, 
and  then  said  with  the  sad  sigh  of  fallibility, 
"Sometimes  I  almost  think  the  mystery  has 
deepened." 


TAKEN  UNDER  ADVISEMENT. 

AWAY  out  West  a  man  was  about  to  be 
hanged. 

It  will  not  do  to  be  very  exact  as  to  names 
or  localities,  because  the  question  is  not  yet 
settled.  The  man's  name  may  pass  as  Peter 
Williams,  which  is  altogether  unlike  what  it 
really  is.  As  to  the  place,  let  it  stand  at  San 
Topaz,  in  Orefornia.  That  the  man  deserved 
hanging  there  is  no  valid  doubt,  although  his 
excuse  for  the  crime  kept  the  jury  out  a 
whole  summer's  afternoon.  He  had  made 
quite  a  little  pile  from  the  sale  of  an  improved 
smelting  process  to  the  Python  Copper  Mine 
— getting  about  one  per  cent,  of  what  the  in- 
vention was  worth — and  turning  from  the  ex- 
press office  into  the  Silver  Palace  saloon, 
which  was  conveniently  near,  he  asked  every- 
body to  drink.  All  but  one  man  stepped  for- 
ward. That  man  was  the  victim. 

"I  asked  him  to  drink  like  a  gentleman," 
said  Williams  in  his  defense,  ''and  when  he 
wouldn't  even  take  a  se-gar,  I  said  he  should 
take  something  anyway,  and  flung  the  whisky 
bottle  at  him." 

Unfortunately,  the  whisky  bottle  was  a 
decanter  weighing  something  less  than  ten 
pounds,  and  it  cracked  the  man's  skull  like  a 
lust  season's  butternut. 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  109 

What  puzzled  the  jury  was  wh ether  a  re- 
fusal to  drink  with  a  man  celebrating  his  luck 
could  be  construed  into  sufficient  provocation, 
until  one  juryman  happened  to  recollect  that 
the  offending,  that  is,  the  refusing  party,  was 
deaf  and  blind.  That  settled  it,  and  the  ver- 
dict of  murder  in  the  first  degree  was  brought 
in  two  minutes  after. 

Well,  the  man  was  about  to  be  hanged. 
Very  quietly,  too,  for  with  excellent  business 
tact  the  Python  Copper  Mine  had  made  this 
its  pay  day.  Padre  Gombrillo  was  in  the 
murderer's  cell  saying  a  few  prayers  in  Spanish 
Latin,  the  other  clergyman  of  San  Topaz,  a 
Methodist,  being  a  timekeeper  in  the  smelt- 
ing office  on  week  days.  Williams  was  tug- 
§ing  at  a  new  pair  of  red-topped  boots,  and 
heriff  Stephen  Winslow  was  leaving  his  office 
for  the  scaffold,  when  the  postmaster's  little 
daughter  brought  a  letter  addressed  to  the 
prisoner,  in  care  of  the  Post  Office.  Winslow 
weighed  the  letter  in  his  hand  for  a  few 
moments,  pondering  whether  there  was 
any  use  bothering  Williams  with  correspond- 
ence when  his  address  would  soon  be  the 
dead-letter  office.  Being  a  man  of  much 
originality  of  action,  he  opened  the  letter,  and 
as  he  read  it  his  red  face  grew  redder,  and 
when  he  had  finished  it  he  smote  the  office 
table  until  the  old  crack  in  it  ran  an  inch. 

"Well,  I'm  jing-swizzled,"  he  cried.  And 
well  he  might  be,  for  the  letter  was  from  a 
.firm  of  lawyers  in  Troybany,  N.  Y.,  informing 


110  SEVEN  SMILES 

Williams  of  the  death  of  his  uncle,  J.  Cannon 
Piece.  Also  of  the  existence  of  a  will,  by  the 
terms  of  which  he  was  left  the  old  man's 
property,  valued  at  something  near  six  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  the  property  to  go  to 
his  children  born  in  wedlock,  if  he  had  any, 
and  to  his  brother  Matthew  if  he  died  without 
legitimate  issue. 

Winslow's  face  grew  positively  purple  with 
the  blood  forced  into  his  head  by  hard  think- 
ing. Williams  a  millionaire  and  to  be  hanged 
inside  of  an  hour!  Should  he  comfort  his  last 
few  moments  by  informing  him  that  he  would 
step  from  gold  bags  here  on  to  the  golden  stairs 
up  there?  Or  would  the  news  comfort  him  at 
all,  especially  as  it  was  coupled  with  a  proviso 
that  the  money  in  an  equally  few  minutes 
would  belong  to  his  brother  Matthew — whom 
the  sheriff  remembered  to  have  heard  Williams 
cursing  with  most  fraternal  fervor.  Then 
the  sheriff  thought  harder  than  ever,  until  his 
temporal  veins  seemed  likely  to  burst,  and 
then,  with  a  sudden  glance  at  his  watch,  he 
hurried  out  of  the  office  and  up  to  the  con- 
demned man's  cell. 

"Excuse  me,  padre,"  he  said,  "but  I 
wanter  to  speak  to  Williams  a  minnit  on  a 
private  matter." 

The  little  priest  bowed,  took  a  piece  of 
chocolate  from  under  his  soutane  and  went 
outside  munching  it. 

"Williams,"  said  the  sheriff,  grabbing  him 
by  the  arm  and  drawing  him  into  the  further 
corner  of  the  cell,  "d'ye  wanter  live;"' 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  HI 

"Say,  Steve,"  said  Williams,  pulling  off  a 
boot  to  hunt  for  a  loose  peg,  ''what's  the  mat- 
ter with  you?" 

"Look  here,"  said  the  sheriff.  "Did  you 
ever  have  an  uncle  in  Troybany?" 

"Yes,"  Williams  replied.  "My  mother's 
brother,  old  Cannon  Piece.  He  is  a  river 
scraper  or  something  of  that  sort,  and  crankier 
than  a  stomps  spindle." 

"Well,  he's  dead,"  said  the  sheriff,  "and 
he's  left  you  his  money." 

"How  much?"  asked  Williams  calmly,  hav- 
ing found  the  peg. 

"Over  half  a  million." 

"Hully  gee!"  cried  Williams.  "Why  didn't 
the  old  man  die  six  months  ago?" 

"Moreover,  upon  your  decease  without  legit- 
imate issue,"  pursued  the  sheriff,  with  a  tine 
recollection  of  the  lawyer's  letter,  "the  prop- 
erty reverses  to  your  brother  Matthew." 

"To  that  measley  skunk,"  said  Williams 
with  many  omitted  parts  of  speech.  "Gee, 
but  that's  tough.  Say,  sheriff,  can't  I  get  a 
reprieve  for  a  few  weeks  and  kinder  waste  the 
property  from  Mat  a  little?  I'd  blow  in  the 
whole  town  day  and  night  for  a  month." 

"Can't  be  did,"  said  the  sheriff  senten- 
tiously. 

"See  here,  Steve  Winslow,  what's  your 
game?"  asked  Williams  with  a  sort  of  yelp  in 
his  voice. 

The  sheriff  stepped  quickly  to  the  cell  door, 
looked  down  the  gallery  at  the  dozen  or  so 
fellows  squatted  in  the  shade  of  the  south  wall, 


112  SE  YEN  SMILES 

and  came  back  with  his  face  shortened  a  full 
inch  hy  the  compression  of  his  mouth  and 
eyes. 

"Just  this,  Williams,"  he  said  in  the  pris- 
oner's ear.  "Swar  to  divvy  with  me — share 
and  share  alike — in  your  fortune;  swar  that 
you  hope  you'll  burn  forever,  body  and  soul,  if 
you  break  your  word,  and  I'll  fix  the  rope  so 
that  it  don't  kill,  and  afterward  we'll  tote  to- 
gether to  Troybany  and  claim  the  property. 
D'ye  swar?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  do,"  said  Williams. 
."Well,  swar  it  then." 

And  Williams  repeated  the  scorching  words. 

"Now,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I'll  go  and  get 
the  rope  and  fix  the  coroner.  He's  pretty 
nigh  drunk  anyhow,  and  has  been  for  a  week, 
and  another  horn  or  two  with  a  little  red 
pepper  into  them  will  knock  him  so  he  won't 
know  your  foot  from  your  nose.  And  that 
Weekly  Roundup  feller  has  got  to  keep  out- 
side the  railing." 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  sheriff 
was  back  with  the  rope. 

"Doc's  all  right,"  he  said,  "although  he'd 
like  to  have  choked  on  that  last  drink,  and  I 
told  Bill  Hepburn,  who's  assisting  me,  that 
you'd  made  a  last  dying  request  that  the  noose 
and  cap  was  put  on  in  here,  together  with  the 
straps.  Now,  then,  off  with  your  coat  lively. 
I  sorter  promised  the  Python  boys  I'd  hold 
this  thing  off  till  after  the  noon  bell,  but  I 
guess  not  now." 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  113 

The  details  of  the  sheriff's  ingenious  plan 
had  better  be  omitted,  except  to  say  that  they 
included  a  running  loop  under  the  prisoner's 
shoulders,  and  a  turn  of  the  rope  from  the 
neck  down,  and  under  this,  and  up  again  to 
the  noose.  Then  the  knot,  as  big  as  your  list, 
was  slipped  back  of  the  ear,  the  coat  replaced, 
the  cap  pulled  well  down  everywhere  save  in 
front,  and  the  straps  buckled  on. 

"Now,  Williams,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I've 
got  to  hear  that  oath  once  more." 

"You  will  not,  then,"  said  Williams  thickly 
from  under  his  cap.  "It  blistered  my  tongue 
too  badly  when  I  said  it.  I'll  stand  to  it, 
though,  and  I  never  broke  my  word,  fair  nor 
foul." 

"All  right,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I'll  trust 
you.  Now,  Pete,  I  don't  say  that  the  fall 
won't  jar  you  some,  and  jar  you  pretty  bad, 
but  it  won't  break  nothing,  and  all  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  play  dead.  Now  I'll  get  the 
padre  and  Jim." 

"Hats  off,  gentlemen,"  said  the  sheriff, 
when  the  shuffling  fignre  had  been  moved  on  to 
the  chalk  cross  that  marked  the  center  of  the 
trapdoor. 

Every  hat  came  off,  although,  owing  to  the 
presence  of  a  few  Arequipas,  there  were  not 
as  many  hats  as  persons.  The  padre  turned 
aside  and  dropped  his  stick  of  chocolate  into 
the  looseness  of  his  sleeve.  The  sheriff 
moved  his  hand,  his  deputy  drew  his  knife 
across  the  bolt  string,  and  the  five  feet  of 


114  SEVEN  SMILES 

slack    rope    tautened    and    hummed    like    a 
steamer's  last  dock-hawser. 

"Neck  broken,  I  guess,  doc,"  said  the 
sheriff. 

"Complee  fraxr  of  shekond  sherr'lbree — 
shekond  sherr'l  vert'bree,  Mr.  Sherf'lbree — • 
Mr.  Sher'f,"  said  the  coroner,  turning  Will- 
iams' wobbly  head  with  spasmodic  fingers. 

So  it  was  recorded. 

"Shay,  sher'f,"  said  the  coroner,  with  a 
gravely  confidential  air,  "if  sh  no  claim  for 
sh'  body  shend  round  to  me.  Mos'  stronery 
case  of  'neurism  the  aorta  ever  met  with. 
K'n  feel  it  all  'cross  s'  chest,  right  through 
'sh  closh." 

"All  right,  doc,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I'll  do 
so." 

But  next  morning  he  told  the  coroner  that 
late  at  night  he  had  thought  better  of  his 
promise,  as  he  had  taken  kindly  to  the  boy 
during  his  imprisonment,  and  so  had  quietly 
removed  the  body  out  to  the  cemetery  and 
buried  it,  with  his  Indian  constable's  assist- 
ance, in  the  grave  that  had  been  dug  for  it. 

The  execution  took  place  on  July  ICth,  and 
on  the  31st  the  sheriff  put  his  deputy  in 
charge,  announcing  that  his  nephew  had  come 
in  from  Pestilence  Vale,  "terrible  sick  with 
the  chills,"  and  that  he  was  "going  to  take 
him  down  to  tidewater."  And,  in  truth,  that 
very  evening  he  drove  over  to  the  Pacific  and 
Atlantic  Railroad  with  his  nephew  by  his  side, 


AND  A  FEW  FWS.  H5 

all  huddled  up  in  blankets,  although  the  day 
had  been  hot  enough  to  cook  eggs  in  the  open. 

It  took  the  sheriff  and  Williams  ten  days  to 
reach  Troybany,  while  the  schedule  time  for 
the  trip  is  only  five  days.  But  they  had  been 
obliged  to  travel  by  easy  stages,  for,  despite 
the  sheriff's  anti-execution  device,  Williams 
had  been  well-nigh  wrenched  in  two  by  the 
drop,  and  still  suffered  horribly  at  times.  On 
reaching  Troybany,  the  sheriff  saw  Williams 
comfortably  bestowed  at  a  hotel  and  then  went 
out  to  view  the  town.  Almost  the  first  man 
he  met  was  Lawyer  Belford,  of  San  Topaz, 
the  counsel  who  had  defended  Williams. 

"So  you  got  my  telegram?"  cried  the  lawyer 
joyously. 

"What  telegram?"  asked  the  sheriff,  with  a 
presentiment  that  there  was  a  snag  somewhere 
in  the  stream. 

"Why,the  telegram  telling  you  to  come  right 
along  here." 

"I  got  no  telegram,"  said  the  sheriff. 

"Well,  that's  too  rich  for  utterance.  What 
brought  you  here,  then?" 

"Why,  damn  it,  man,  I  came  on  business — • 
business  of  my  own." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  the  lawyer 
soothingly.  "I  know.  The  Williams  busi- 
ness. Fii/my,  ain't  it?  That's  what  I'm 


here  for,  too.     Two  days  after  you  left  I  got 
Wolfe  and  Fox,  a  law  firm  of  this 


letter  from 


place,  asking  if  we  could  tell  them  anything 
of  Peter  Williams,  last  heard  of  at  San  Topaz, 
and  giving  the  terms  of  his  uncle's  will. 


116  SEVEN  SMILES 

They  said  they  had  written  to  him  at  San 
Topaz,  but  had  received  no  answer." 

"He  got  a  letter  on  the  day  of  the  execu- 
tion," said  the  sheriff. 

"Did  he,  now?  Well,  well.  Fancy  that! 
And  what  has  become  of  it,  I  wonder?" 

"He's  got  it  with  him,  I  guess,"  said  the 
sheriff  with  a  rumbling  laugh. 

"Ah,  I  guess  so,  too,"  said  the  lawyer  with 
a  discreet  and  mild  echo  of  the  sheriff's  mirth. 
"At  any  rate,  I  telegraphed  that  Williams  had 
died  suddenly  on  July  16th,  and  got  a  dispatch 
in  reply  to  come  on  immediately  and  bring  all 
the  proofs  of  his  death.  I  went  at  once  to 
your  office,  but  found  you  gone,  as  I've  said. 
Got  a  copy  of  your  official  return  of  Williams' 
execution,  a  copy  of  the  Roundup's  account  of 
the  hanging,  and  a  copy  of  the  coroner's  cer- 
tificate— all  properly  sworn  to.  But  on  the 
train  I  happened  to  think  that  I  had  omitted 
to  get  a  certificate  of  the  burial,  and  as  I  re- 
membered to  have  heard  that  you  attended  to 
that,  I  thought — considering  the  enormous 
interests  at  stake — it  was  best  to  telegraph  you 
to  come  on.  All  expenses  paid,  of  course. 
So  naturally,  when  I  saw  you  here,  I  jumped 
at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  you  had  come 
in  answer  to  that  call." 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  sheriff. 

"Well,  never  mind;  you're  here,  and  I'll 
see  that  you  don't  get — left,"  said  the  lawyer 
cheerily.  "I'm  retained  for  Matthew  Will- 
iams, the  present  heir,  you  know.  Funny, 
ain't  it,  that  I  defended  Peter  Williams  when 


AND  A  FEW  FIZ8.  H7 

living  and  am  now  on  the  other  side  wnen  he's 
dead?  Small  world,  eh?  The  case  comes  up 
in  the  Probate  Court  to-morrow  at  ten,  and, 
of  course,  you'll  be  there." 

"I'll  be  thar  for  sure,"  said  the  sheriff 
grimly. 

He  was,  and  with  him  came  Peter  Williams, 
wrapped  in  a  big  storm  coat  of  the  sheriff's, 
with  the  collar  turned  up  to  his  ears. 

Mr.  Wolfe,  of  the  local  law  firm,  made  a 
statement  of  the  decease  of  J.  Cannon  Piece, 
of  the  drawing  up  and  filing  of  his  will,  read 
it  aloud — it  was  a  very  short  document — and 
then  asked  that  the  status  of  Matthew  Will- 
iams, here  present,  be  duly  recorded  as  resid- 
uary legatee,  owing  to  the  decease  without 
legitimate  issue — or  any  other  so  far  as  known 
—of  Peter  Williams,  the  original  heir. 

"Yon  are  prepared  to  present  the  proper 
proofs  of  the  decease  of  Peter  Williams,  I 
suppose?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Certainly,"  was  the  reply.  In  doing  so, 
Mr.  Wolfe  regretted  to  say,  they  would  be 
obliged  to  introduce  a  very  delicate  and  dis- 
tressing story.  The  young  man,  Peter  Will- 
iams, it  appeared,  had  been  his  uncle's  favor- 
ite nephew,  but  had  quarreled  with  him,  had 
gone  out  West,  and  there,  passing  from  one 
excess  to  another,  had  finally,  in  a  drunken 
passion,  taken  the  life  of  a  fellow-being  in  the 
town  of  San  Topaz,  in  the  State  of  Orefornia, 
for  which  crime  he  had  suffered  the  extreme 
penalty  of  the  law.  Documentary  evidence 


118  SEVEN  SMILES 

in  the  shape  of  a  transcript  of  the  trial  and 
all  of  the  requisite  official  attestations  of  the 
execution  would  be  presented  by  an  attorney- 
at-lavv  of  San  Topaz.  In  addition  to  which — 
by  what  they  could  only  regard  as  a  providen- 
tial coincidence — the  sheriff  of  San  Topaz  was 
in  court  at  that  very  moment. 

Then  Lawyer  Belford  was  introduced  and 
read  from  the  transcript  of  the  trial  the  per- 
sonal statement  under  examination  of  the 
younger  Williams,  as  to  his  name,  age,  place 
of  birth,  etc.,  and  read  also  the  sheriff's  re- 
turn for  the  execution,  the  coroner's  certificate 
of  death,  and  the  "dull  thud"  paragraph  of 
the  Weekly  Roundup. 

"We  place  these  in  evidence,"  concluded 
the  lawyer,  "although  they  are  almost  super- 
ogatory  in  view  of  the  presence  here  of  the 
sheriff  of  San  Topaz,  whom  I  shall  now  ask  to 
take  the  stand." 

The  witness  chair  creaked  as  Sheriff  Wins- 
low  settled  his  huge  bulk  between  its  arms. 

"Your  name  is  Stephen  Douglas  Winslow, 
and  you  are  sheriff  of  San  Topaz,  Orefornia,  I 
believe?"  said  Lawyer  Belford,  smiling  pleas- 
antly-at  his  fellow  townsman. 

"I  am — to  both  questions." 

"You  were  officially  present  at  the  execu- 
tion of  Peter  Williams,  on  the  16th  day  of 
July,  of  this  year?" 

"I  was." 

"This  certified  copy  of  your  return  of  the 
execution  is  correct  in  every  particular,  is  it 
not?" 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  119 

"It's  a  k'rect  copy." 

"You  took  quite  an  interest  in  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man,  I  understand,  Mr.  Sheriff, 
and  personally  attended  to  the  disposal  of  the 
remains?" 

"Wai,"  said  the  sheriff,  slowly  spreading 
himself  over  the  back  of  the  chair,  "there's  a 
young  man  here  who  can  answer  that  question 
better  than  me." 

Lawyer  Belford  evidently  did  not  expect 
this  answer,  for  he  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Put  the  young  man  on  the  stand  by  all 
means,"  said  Mr.  Wolfe. 

Then  the  sheriff  led  the  muffled  young  man 
to  the  chair  and  stood  beside  him  while  he 
was  sworn. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  Belford, 
glancing  curiously  at  the  witness. 

Before  replying,  the  witness  slowly  turned 
down  his  coat-collar,  and  then,  wheeling 
around  in  his  chair,  said,  with  difficulty — the 
catch  in  his  voice  running  through  all  that  he 
said — • 

"Peter  Williams." 

"What!"  cried  Lawyer  Belford,  and  fell 
back  in  his  chair  clutching  at  his  necktie  as 
though  he  were  going  to  have  a  fit. 

"Oh,  you  know  me  well  enough,  I  guess, 
Mr.  Belford,"  said  Williams,  "though  you 
didn't  save  me  from  swinging.  And  Mat 
knows  me  well  enough,  too,  I  see,  although  I 
guess  I'm  considerably  more  changed  than  he 
seems  to  be.  Howdy,  Mat?  Sorry  for  you, 
old  man,  but  I've  got  to  knock  you  out  this 


120  SEVEN  SMILES 

time.  By  the  way,  too,  if  there's  any  doubt- 
ing anywhere  around  this  courtroom  as  to  my 
identity,  why,  just  look  at  this  neck!" 

Upon  which  he  pulled  off  a  big  silk  scarf, 
and  showed  the  lingering  shadow  of  the  black 
imprint  of  the  hangman's  rope,  whose  close 
hug  even  the  sheriff's  life-saving  contrivance 
had  not  quite  overcome. 

Lawyer  Belford  still  sat  grasping  his  neck- 
tie and  staring  speechlessly  at  the  witness, 
while  Mat  Williams'  gray  face  grew  livid  as 
he  crept  into  the  shadow  of  his  attorney's 
back.  Only  the  old  lawyer,  Wolfe,  retained 
his  self-possession. 

"Your  honor!"  he  cried,  "we  object.  This 
is  most  irregular,  most  unheard  of,  and  we 
object." 

"It  is  most  irregular,  as  you  say,"  said  the 

1'udge  suavely,  "and,  under  the  circumstances, 
shall  myself  ask  the  witness  to  tell  his  story." 

"We  object." 

"Certainly,"  said  the  judge.  Then,  turn- 
ing to  the  witness,  "Peter  Williams,"  he  said, 
"if  that  be  your  name,  how  comes  it  that  you 
are  here  alive?" 

Then  Williams  told  the  story  that  he  had 
been  taught,  that  the  sheriff,  taking  compas- 
sion on  his  youth  and  near  grasp  of  fortune, 
believing  in  his  solemn  promise  to  reform,  and 
not  looking  forward  to  any  such  complications 
as  had  arisen,  had  consented  to  arrange  the 
rope  so  that  resuscitation  might  be  possible. 

The  judge  listened  with  close  attention, 
and  then  turning  to  Winslow,  said,  "Of  course 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  121 

there  was  a  monetary  consideration  in  this, 
Mr.  Sheriff?" 

"Wai,  nat'rel,  your  honor,"  said  Winslow, 
in  a  surprised  tone  of  voice. 

"So  I  supposed.  Now,  sir,"  to  Lawyer 
Wolfe,  "I  will  hear  the  grounds  of  your  objec- 
tion." 

"They  are  very  simple,"  said  that  old 
practitioner.  "We  object  not  only  because  of 
the  utter  irrelevancy  of  the  testimony,  but 
because  of  the  utter  immateriality  of  the  wit- 
ness himself.  We  are  quite  willing  to  admit 
that  during  the  lifetime  of  this  young  man  his 
name  was  Peter  Williams,  but,  your  honor, 
Peter  Williams  is  dead — he  was  hanged  by  the 
neck  till  dead,  in  Sau  Topaz,  on  the  sixteenth 
day  of  July  of  this  year  of  our  Lord  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  ninety-four,  and 
you  yourself,  your  honor,  have  admitted  the 
evidence  that  proves  it.  The  testimony  of 
this  man  Winslow — which  he  will  be  only  too 
willing  to  give— that  he,  a  sworn  officer  of  the 
law,  did  cheat  the  law,  and  did  actively  par- 
ticipate in  an  evasion  of  the  law  and  made  a 
lying  return,  cannot  possibly  have  the  faintest 
weight  in  this  court.  It  would  be  the  testi- 
mony of  a  self-confessed  perjurer  indulging  in 
cumulative  perjury.  We  are  even  willing  to 
admit  that  such  a  plot  was  concocted,  and 
that  it  was  carried  to  a  successful  issue,  but 
that  does  not  in  the  very  slightest  degree 
affect  the  legal  fact  of  the  demise  of  the  late 
Peter  Williams,  as  sworn  to  in  every  requisite 
formality.  It  comes  to  just  this,  your  honor: 


122  SEVEN  SMILES 

Physically  Peter  Williams  may  be  alive,  but 
legally  he  is  dead,  and  legally,  too,  Matthew 
Williams  is  therefore  the  only  heir." 

"Humph!"  said  the  judge,  with  a  faintly- 
marked  twist  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 
"Your  statement,  Mr.  Wrolfe,  puts  a  very 
curious  aspect  on  affairs.  I  will  tak«  the 
matter  under  advisement." 

And  he  has  it  under  advisement  yet. 


OLD  LICK'S  GHOST. 
A  CALIFORNIA  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 

"Or  courth,"  said  Mrs.  Colonel  Bounty, 
with  her  charming  lisp,  "of  courth  you  have 
a  ghotht  here.  Such  a  plath  as  thith  is  as 
naturally  the  home  of  a  ghotht  as  Udolpho 
ithelf." 

"Of  course  there  is,"  assented  the  burly 
host,  "and  at  the  risk  of  every  one  of  you 
keeping  a  lamp  burning  all  night,  I  must  in 
seriousness  make  the  announcement:  There 
is  a  ghost  here." 

The  men  all  said  "Nonsense"  and  "Pooh- 
pooh,"  while  the  ladies  smiled  in  varying  de- 
grees of  sickliness,  but  Mr.  Wodin  calmly 
repeated  his  affirmation.  Indeed,  the  repeti- 
tion was  made  with  so  much  earnestness  and 
apparent  good  faith  that  at  last  the  men  de- 
cided to  get  at  the  real  extent  of  Wodin's 
bona-fides. 

"Look  here  now,  Wodin,"  said  Judge 
Tome,  with  his  favorite' gesture  of  an  extended 
forefinger;  "do  you  mean  to  tell  us  seriously 
that  you  have  seen  a  ghost  here?" 

"Never,"  said  Wodiu. 

"I  thought  not,"  said  the  judge  trium- 
phantly; "mere  hearsay  evidence,  gathered 
probably  from  your  Portuguese  contingent 
over  there." 


124  SEVEN  SMILES 

"I  have  never  seen  the  ghost,"  said  Wodin 
quietly,  "but  I  have  seldom  passed  a  night 
here  for  the  past  two  years  without  hearing  it." 

This  rather  staggered  the  judge,  and,  while 
he  was  meditating  upon  his  line  of  rebuttal, 
Miss  Grace  Colby,  who  was  achieving  some- 
thing of  a  reputation  as  an  elocutionist,  asked 
in  a  rather  thrilling  fashion  whose  ghost  it  was. 

"Why,  old  James  Lick's,  I  suppose,"  re- 
plied Wodin;  "this  was  his  place,  his  favorite 
country  retreat,  you  know,  before  it  came  into 
our  hands." 

"But  why  should  he  haunt  you?"  inquired 
Colonel  Bounty. 

"I  can't  give  you  any  explanation  about  the 
cause  of  the  visitations,"  answered  Wodin; 
"all  I  know  is  that  Lick's  ghost  walks  slowly 
up  and  down  that  veranda  there  almost  every 
night." 

"Oh,  bosh!" cried  the  men;  "Wodin's  spin- 
ning a  Christmas  yarn  and  wants  to  scare  us 
into  taking  the  next  train  into  town." 

"Scarcely  that,"  replied  Wodin,  smiling, 
"as  the  next  train  doesn't  go  until  a  quarter 
past  nine  to-morrow  morning.  I  have  noth- 
ing more  to  say  about  it  now,"  he  went  on; 
"wait  until  to-night  and  hear  for  yourselves, 
and  meanwhile  let's  go  in  to  dinner." 

The  spot  where  the  above  conversation  took 
place  was  that  delightful  bend  of  the  Guada- 
lupe  Creek,  which  empties  into  the  upper  end 
of  San  Francisco  Bay,  known  by  the  prosaic 
name  of  Lick  Mills.  The  dead  millionaire 
always  had  a  liking  for  this  part  of  the  bay 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  125 

valley,  just  where  the  horrible  ooze  of  the 
mud-flats  stiffens  into  adobe,  and  at  one 
time  owned  everything  from  dismantled 
Alviso  Landing  almost  down  to  sleepy  Santa 
Clara. 

The  warm  but  tempered  climate  was  very 
grateful  to  the  old  gentleman;  he  liked 
the  pastoral  scene  and  the  tall  hills  that  shut 
in  the  valley  like  a  great  waH.  Moreover,  he 
had  certain  utilitarian  ideas  about  the  place 
which,  had  he  lived,  he  would  undoubtedly 
have  carried  out.  One  of  these  ideas  was  to 
make  the  Guadalupe  a  navigable  canal  from 
this  corner  of  it  down  to  the  landing,  to  build 
large  flouring  mills  here,  and  to  reestablish  the 
departed  glories  of  Alviso.  The  mills  and 
locks  were  built;  but  the  massive  brickwork 
of  the  locks  is  slowly  bulging  into  the  stream; 
the  mills  were  long  ago  burned,  and  the  moss  is 
thicker  than  ever  oil  the  deserted  warehouses 
of  Alviso. 

There  was  a  fringe  of  willows  along  the 
Guadalupe  when  the  lands  about  the  creek 
came  into  Lick's  possession,  but  in  this  par- 
ticular corner  he  added  to  the  natural  timber 
by  setting  down  a  plantation  of  splendid  trees, 
chiefly  such  shade  makers  as  the  sycamore, 
maple,  lime,  and  oak.  Most  of  all,  though, 
was  he  proud  of  his  double  avenue  of  weeping 
willows,  extending  from  the  house  by  the 
creek's  bank  to  the  county  road.  The  avenues 
are  little  more  than  a  wild  grove  at  present, 
but  there  are  lovely  vistas  still  to  be  had  be- 
tween the  rows  of  feathery  branches  which 


126  SEVEN  SMILES 

sweep  down  to  meet  the  rank  grass,  that  is 
cool  even  in  the  hottest  day. 

The  house  is  a  great  rambling  structure, 
with  broad,  echoing  halls,  bedrooms  big  enough 
for  a  large  family,  and  a  dining-room  that  is 
almost  baronial  in  its  proportions.  Very 
broad  verandas  run  around  three  sides  of  the 
house,  and  as  the  trees  crowd  in  rather  closely 
on  these,  the  daylight  that  gets  indoors  is — 
like  that  underneath  the  willows — always 
rather  cool  and  shadowy.  When  it  is  garish 
outside,  it  is  dusky  within;  and  when  it  is 
dusk  without,  it  is  gloomy  within.  The  lamps 
serve  rather  to  deepen  the  shadows  of  the 
corners  than  to  dispel  them,  the  halls  seem  to 
be  more  echoey  than  ever  after  dark,  and  the 
great  bedrooms  look  absolutely  cavernous.  So 
that,  altogether,  Mrs.  Colonel  Bounty's  lisp- 
ing, matter-of-course  assumption  that  the 
mansion  had  its  ghost  was  very  natural. 

The  conversation,  which  had  been  closed  by 
a  call  to  dinner,  had  been  held  on  the  western 
veranda,  for,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  it 
was  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  evening  of 
Christmas  Eve  at  that,  the  air  was  as  mild  as 
spring.  The  first  rains  had  turned  o(T  the 
faucet  about  a  week  before,  and  the  dropping 
sun  had  come  out  with  a  June-like  vigor. 

Those  who  were  doing  the  talking  were  Mr. 
Wodin  and  his  guests.  Mr.  Wodin  was  a  mass- 
ive and  most  hospitable  Swede,  who  was  the 
manager  of  the  factory  which  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  original  mill,  and,  as  he  detested 
being  alone  and  had  accommodations  for  a 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  127 

regiment,  he  was  forever  filling,  or  partly  fill- 
ing, the  great  mansion  with  whomsoever  of  his 
particular  friends  he  could  get  to  pass  a  day, 
or  a  week,  or  a  month  with  him.  For  several 
days  past  he  had  been  laying  his  plans  to 
have  an  old-fashioned  Christmas  Day  in  a 
country  house,  and  had  so  well  succeeded  that 
he  had  now  some  dozen  odd  city  folks  on  his 
hands  to  fodder  and  bed.  They  had  all  come 
down  by  the  midday  train,  and,  after  having 
got  over  a  very  noisy  assignment  of  quarters, 
had  all  trooped  outdoors,  vowing  that  the 
weather  and  place  were  both  too  lovely  for 
them  to  stay  cooped  up  within  any  four  walls. 
Truly  there  were  inducements  enough  to 
draw  them  outdoors  that  delightful  Decem- 
ber afternoon.  The  weather  was  an  atmos- 
pheric treat,  and  the  view  both  near  and  far 
was  peculiarly  grateful  to  the  eye.  Close  at 
their  feet  was  the  grassy  lawn,  with  its  flower 
beds,  shade  trees,  and  graveled  walks.  A 
step  beyond  was  the  fishpond,  with  the  mill 
buildings  at  one  end,  and  the  Portuguese 
quarters  at  the  other,  but  both  embowered  in 
willows  and  sycamores.  Then  in  the  middle 
distance  were  the  great  level  stretches  of 
farming  and  fruit  lands,  with  the  high  roofs 
and  spires  of  the  Asylum  for  the  Chronic  In- 
sane breaking  the  line  of  plane,  and  then  in 
the  distance  the  hills  stretching  from  Pilar- 
citos  on  the  west  clear  round,  past  the  Los 
Gatos  gap,  to  the  bare  scarp  of  the  Mission 
Peak  back  of  Irvingtou.  All  the  uplifted 
profiles  were  aglow  in  the  red  light  of  the  set- 


128  SEVEN  SMILES 

ting  sun  as  they  looked,  while  up  on  Mount 
Hamilton's  further  cone  they  could  see  the 
gleaming  domes  that  covered  Lick's  noblest 
monument  and  tomb. 

It  was  late  before  they  all  retired  that  night, 
and  though  the  ghost  had  formed  the  topic  of 
conversation  again,  both  at  the  dinner  and 
during  the  games  that  followed  it,  no  one's 
slumbers  were  frightfully  disturbed,  and  every 
one  appeared  at  breakfast  next  morning  in 
good  order  and  color.  Christmas  greetings 
flew  about;  the  few  young  folks  who  had  been 
brought  down  had  hung  up  their  stockings 
and  had  found  them  crammed  in  the  morning; 
the  Christmas-tree  was  lying  outside  ready  to 
be  set  up  in  the  parlor;  there  was  talk  of  a 
magic  lantern,  and  Mr.  Wodin  went  heavily 
about,  smiling  and  beaming  like  a  veritable 
Santa  Glaus.  His  Christmas  day  in  a  country 
house  was  evidently  a  success. 

But  jolly  host  though  he  was,  he  had  to  be 
told  the  truth,  and  it  was  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bounty  who  flatly  brought  it  out. 

"Mr.  Wodin,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  hum- 
bug. There  ith  no  ghotht." 

Many  of  them  cried  out  an  indorsement  of 
this  uncomplimentary  opinion,  but  they  were 
suddenly  silenced  by  Dr.  Lassen's  going  over 
to  the  enemy. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said,  in  his  rather  posi- 
tive fashion;  "there  is  a  ghost,  and  my  wife 
and  I  heard  it." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Wodin,  with  one  of  his 
long,  high-pitched  laughs,  "what  did  I  tell 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  129 

you?  Why,  you  might  all  have  heard  it,  had 
you  not  gone  so  heavy-headed  to  bed." 

"Tell  us  what  you  heard,  doctor,"  was  the 
next  demand. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "it  was  about  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  that  I  was  awakened  by  a  feel- 
ing of  intense  cold.  It  was  due,  I  found,  to 
Mrs.  Lassen's  having  kicked  the  bedclothes 
off  me — you  needn't  threaten  me  with  that 
knife,  my  dear,  for  you  know  I'm  telling  the 
truth.  While  I  was  readjusting  the  covers  I 
heard  a  heavy  footfall  on  the  veranda  just 
outside  my  window,  and  then  another,  and 
another  in  different  parts  of  the  porch." 

"The  watchman,  of  course,"  said  Judge 
Tome  loftily. 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Dr.  Lassen;  "I  awak- 
ened my  wife  and  asked  her  to  listen.  She 
did  for  a  minute  or  so,  then  cried  out  'Lick's 
ghost,'  and  ducked  her  head  under  the  bed- 
clothes. 'Now,  come  out  of  that,'"  I  said,  'and 
I'll  tell  you  what  this  ghost  is,  but  first  listen 
attentively/  She  pulled  the  bedclothes  down 
from  one  ear,  and  we  both  lay  quiet  and  lis- 
tened. The  heavy  footsteps  were  very  audible 
and  came  from  all  parts  of  the  veranda. 
'Now,  Ella,'  I  said,  'tell  me,  do  you  notice 
anything  peculiar  about  those  footsteps?' 
'They  are  very  loud,'  she  said.  'Anything 
else?'  I  asked.  'Yes;  very  crackly,'  she  said. 
'Anything  else?'  I  persisted;  'anything  about 
their  regularity?'  'They  are  very  irregular,' 
she  said.  'I  should  say  so,'  I  replied.  'Listen, 
there's  one  just  outside,  and  there's  another 


130  SEVEN  SMILES 

nearly  up  to  the  corner  by  Bounty's  room. 
You  see,  then,  if  there's  any  one  doing  the 
promenade  act  out  there,  he  must  walk  like  a 
kangaroo.  Now,  come  out  here  and  I'll  show 
you  there's  no  one.  Here's  your  wrapper.' 
She  came  out  shivering,  but  I  dragged  her  to 
the  window  and  pulled  up  the  shade.  The 
moon  was  shining  clearly,  and  we  could  see 
everything  almost  as  plainly  as  we  do  now. 
There  was  no  one,  of  course,  on  the  veranda, 
yet,  as  we  were  looking,  there  was  the  sound 
of  a  loud  footstep  directly  in  front  of  us.  My 
wife  turned  to  run,  but  J  gripped  her  arm  and 
wouldn't  let  her  stir.  'Tell  me  what  that 
veranda  is  covered  with,'  I  said,  'and  then  you 
can  go  to  bed.'  'It's  covered  with  tin  and  it's 
painted  red,'  she  said,  'and  now  let  me  return 
to  bed,  you  brute.'  I  let  her  go.  'Now,  my 
dear,'  I  said,  when  I,  too,  was  under  cover, 
'go  back  to  your  schooldays  and  tell  me  what 
effect  the  sun  would  have  upon  a  lot  of  tin 
sheets  exposed  as  those  are  out  there.'  'It 
would  make  them  expand,  I  suppose,'  she 
said.  'Naturally,' I  replied;  'and  what  would 
these  same  tin  sheets  do  on  a  cold  night,  for 
as  you  have  noticed,  it  is  a  cold  night — what 
would  these  sheets  do?'  'They  would  con- 
tract, I  guess,'  she  replied.  'Eight  again,'  I 
said,  'and  it  is  in  the  cracking  sound  of  that 
contraction  that  you  have  Lick's  ghost.' " 

Everybody  laughed,  Mr.  VVodin  the  loudest 
of  all,  and  Lick's  ghost  was  declared  to  have 
been  permanently  and  completely  laid. 

With  the  proceedings  of  the  day  this  story 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  131 

has  little  to  do,  and  they  may  be  almost  dis- 
missed by  saying  that  they  were  thoroughly 
seasonable.  After  breakfast  all  the  horses  and 
conveyances  on  the  place  were  brought  out  and 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  guests.  A  few  of 
these — their  number  was  really  but  four — drove 
over  to  Santa  Clara  and  attended  service  in  the 
college  church;  others  explored  the  smooth, 
boulevard-like  roads  of  the  neighborhood; 
while  others  again  paid  visits  to  some  friends 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  locality.  Most  of 
the  ladies,  however,  took  pity  upon  the  poor 
little  Swiss  housekeeper,  and  stayed  in  the 
house  to  help  prepare  the  dinner,  for  which 
Mr.  Wodin  had  made  the  most  extravagant 
preparations;  to  set  up  the  Christmas-tree;  to 
see  that  the  dining-room  was  properly  deco- 
rated, and  to  work  out  the  problem  of  serving 
sixteen  people  with  only  a  dozen  and  two  of 
knives  and  forks.  Wodin  also  remained  at 
home  and  was  the  busiest  personage  of  them 
all.  His  heavy  step  and  high,  cackling  laugh 
were  heard  everywhere,  his  great  florid  face 
dripping  with  perspiration,  and  a  cigar  forever 
tucked  away  under  his  big  blond  mustache. 
The  dinner  was  a  triumph,  the  magic  lantern 
worked  to  a  charm,  there  was  plenty  of  good 
music,  and  the  children  were  allowed  to  stay 
up  until  nearly  eleven,  when  the  Virginia 
Keel  was  danced.  Altogether  it  was  a  jolly, 
splendid  time — a  time  of  real  merriment  and 
unaffected  pleasure.  By  midnight  every  one 
had  retired  with  a  chorus  of  "good-nights" 
and  a  rattle  of  bedroom  doors. 


132  SEVEN  SMILES 

It  was,  perhaps,  an  hour  after  when  Dr. 
Lassen  was  aroused  by  his  wife  shaking  his 
shoulder. 

"Eh,  eh,"  he  grunted;  "tell  him  I'll  be 
down  in  a  minute."  Then,  being  wide-awake, 
and  something  in  his  wife's  "Hush!"  aiding 
the  process,  he  sat  up  and  asked,  "What  is  it?" 

"Listen,"  she  whispered,  in  reply. 

The  doctor  listened,  and  out  on  the  veranda 
he  heard  the  scuffle  of  feet  and  then  a  laugh 
— an  unpleasant,  subdued,  and  smothered 
laugh. 

"That's  not  the  tin  roof,"  said  Mrs.  Lassen. 

"No,"  he  replied  gruffly;  "but  it's  some 
unripe  fools  trying  to  play  a  prank  ghost.  I'll 
just  settle  them." 

Whereupon  he  rose  softly,  tiptoed  over  to 
the  washstand,  and  had  lifted  the  pitcher  out 
of  the  bowl  when  he  dropped  it  back  again,  as 
a  shriek  of  mortal  terror  came  ringing  out 
from  the  next  bedroom.  It  was  that  occupied 
by  Miss  Grace  Colby,  and,  as  he  was  debating 
what  to  do,  there  came  a  second  shriek,  and 
then  another,  and  then  a  clamor  at  the  door 
which  communicated  between  the  two  rooms. 
Jumping  into  his  trousers  and  slippers,  the 
doctor  ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  when  in 
fell  Miss  Colby  in  a  dead  faint.  By  this  time 
the  hall  was  filled  with  people  in  every  descrip- 
tion of  deshabille  and  excitement.  There 
were  knockings  at  the  door  and  inquiries  of 
all  sorts;  so  the  doctor,  telling  his  wife  to  at- 
tend to  Miss  Colby,  opened  the  door,  and,  in 
reply  to  the  general  clamor,  said  that  the 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  133 

young  lady  had  evidently  been  badly  fright- 
ened by  something  and  had  fainted,  but  would 
be  all  right  in  a  minute  or  two.  In  proof  of 
which  Miss  Colby  at  that  very  moment  opened 
her  eyes,  shuddered  a  little,  and  then  asked  if 
she  could  not  get  into  bed  with  Mrs.  Lassen, 
as  she  dared  not  return  to  her  room.  She  was 
assisted  to  bed,  being  still  very  weak,  when 
there  came  another  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Mr.  Wodin's  voice  was  heard  asking  permis- 
sion for  its  owner  to  enter.  He  had  managed 
to  get  most  of  the  people  back  to  their  rooms, 
but  was  evidently  disturbed  himself. 

Coming  in  and  shutting  the  door  he  went  at 
once  to  the  point. 

"What  frightened  you,  Miss  Colby?"  he 
asked. 

From  the  recesses  of  Mrs.  Lassen's  bed  the 
young  lady  replied  in  a  very  faint  voice  that 
she  had  been  awakened  by  a  hand  being  gently 
passed  over  her  face,  and,  looking  up,  had 
seen  a  man  at  her  bedside. 

''Can  you  describe  him?"  asked  Wodin 
grimly;  and  then  they  saw  that  he  was  clutch- 
ing something  in  the  pocket  of  his  long  ulster. 

"I  can,"  replied  Miss  Colby,  a  little  more 
steadily,  "for  the  moon  was  shining  clearly. 
He  was  an  old  man,  with  a  long  gray  beard, 
and  dressed  in  a  dark  garment  that  trailed  on 
the  ground.  His  face  was  close  to  mine,  and 
I  believe  he  either  had  kissed  or  was 
about  to  kiss  me.  I  shrieked  out,  when  he 
straightened  himself  up,  threw  out  his  hands, 
and  walked  out  the  window  laughing." 


134  BEVEN  SMILES 

"Laughing!"  echoed  the  doctor;  "that's 
strange." 

"You're  sure  you  were  not  dreaming?" 
asked  Mr.  Woclin  rather  crossly. 

"Go  and  look  at  my  window,"  replied  Miss 
Colby,  with  as  much  dignity  as  she  could 
throw  into  the  command,  uttered  as  it  was 
with  nothing  visible  but  a  blond  head  in 
crimps,  and  two  blue  eyes. 

Both  the  doctor  and  Mr.  Wodin  looked  at 
the  window  and  found  it  wide  open  and  the 
curtain  rolled  up  to  the  very  top. 

"Well,"  said  the  young  lady  rather  de- 
fiantly, "you  don't  think  I'm  in  the  habit  of 
foing  to  bed  with  my  window  like  that,  I  hope? 
tell  you  the  man  was  there." 

"It's  very  queer,  very — "  Mr.  Wodin  had 
begun,  when  his  speech  was  cut  short  by 
the  furious  strumming  of  the  piano  downstairs 
in  the  parlor.  There  was  a  crash  in  the  bass, 
a  helter-skelter  among  the  treble  notes,  a  wail, 
and  then  the  thump  of  the  piano-cover  as  it 
was  slammed  to. 

With  the  crash,  Mr.  Wodin,  who  had  been 
standing  in  the  fixity  of  utter  amazement,  was 
roused  into  action.  Drawing  a  pistol  from 
his  pocket  he  rushed  from  the  room,  followed 
by  the  doctor  and  accompanied  by  the  shrieks 
of  Miss  Colby.  When  they  reached  the  hall 
it  was  once  more  filled  with  frightened  women 
and  jabbering  men.  Without  heeding  any 
one,  Mr.  Wodin  ran  through  them,  heading 
for  his  objective  point,  when  Judge  Tome's 
voice  was  heard  crying: 


A  FEW  msa.  135 

"Get  out  of  that,  you  ass,  or  I  fire  at  three! 
One — two — three!"  And  immediately  after  a 
pistol  shot  rang  out,  then  another,  then  a  good 
round  oath,  and  the  cling  of  shattered  glass. 

Mr.  Wodin  turned  at  the  head  of  the  stair- 
case, which  he  had  reached,  and  strode  to  the 
judge's  room. 

"Tome,"  he  called  out,  rapping  smartly  at 
the  door,  "what  in  heaven's  name  are  you 
doing;  what's  the  matter?" 

"Matter!"  called  back  the  judge,  as  he 
threw  open  the  door  and  showed  himself, 
with  his  smoking  revolver  in  his  hand;  "mat- 
ter enough,  I  should  think;  some  denied  fool 
has  been  trying  to  play  an  idiotic  joke  by 
smothering  me  with  a  pillow.  I  had  all  I 
could  do  to  get  my  head  clear,  grab  my  pistol 
from  under  the  bolster,  and  let  fly,  when  the 
fellow  made  a  dive  out  the  window." 

"Did  yoa  hit  him:"'  asked  Mr.  Wodin. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  judge;  "I  gen- 
erally do  get  there,  but  I  was  so  flustered  and 
strangled  that  I  am  afraid  my  aim  was  uncer- 
tain." 

"Have  you  any  idea  who  your  visitor  was?" 
asked  Dr.  Lassen. 

"Not  the  faintest,  except  that  I  imagine  it 
was  some  ass,  who  thought  it  a  clever  trick," 
said  the  judge  hotly;  "whoever  it  was,  he 
had  disguised  himself  with  a  heavy  beard  and 
a  long,  flowing  gown — a  dressing-gown,  I 
should  say." 

"Look  here,"  said  Colonel  Bounty,  "this 
thing  is  getting  a  little  too  serious,  and  I  pro- 


136  SEVEN  SMILES 

pose  that  we  count  noses  and  see  if  it  is  possi- 
ble that  there  is  any  one  so  foolish  as  to  carry 
practical  joking  to  such  an  absurd  extent  as 
to  wake  up  everybody  in  the  house,  distress 
our  host,  and  set  the  women  in  fits." 

The  muster  was  made  and  every  one  was 
answered  for,  either  directly  or  by  authorized 
proxy. 

"Do  you  think  it  possible?"  said  young 
Camomile,  the  artist;  "I  only  offer  it  as  a 
suggestion,  don't  you  know — but  old  man — 
gray  beard — long  gown — and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  don't  your  know — do  you  think  it  possi- 
bly might  be  Lick's  ghost?" 

"Oh,  Lick's  ghost  be  hanged!"  cried  the 
impetuous  doctor;  "Lick's  ghost  can't 
smother  Judge  Tome  and  bang  the  piano  at 
the  same  time,  can  he?  We  men  must  ferret 
this  thing  out.  By  all  the  horse-leeches, 
what's  thatf" 

"That"  was  a  conglomerate  sound  of  tram- 
pling, yelling,  and  splashing  on  the  roof,  just 
above  them. 

Colonel  Bounty's  experience  in  command 
here  came  in  good  play.  "Tome!"  he 
shouted,  "you,  and  you,  and  you,"  indicating 
three  other  fellows,  "stay  here  and  look  after 
the  women,  and,  Wodin,  you  and  the  doctor 
and  I  will  take  to  the  roof.  Give  me  that 
poker  out  of  the  grate  in  our  room,  my  dear," 
h.1  added.  Mrs.  Colonel  Bounty  passed  him 
the  poker  without  a  word,  the  doctor  drew  a 
penknife,  and,  led  by  Wodin  with  his  re- 
volver, the  three  went  into  the  bathroom  and 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  137 

up  by  a  step-ladder  through  a  trapdoor  to  the 
roof.  The  hullaballoo  was  in  full  swing  when 
Wodin  put  his  head  through  the  trapdoor, 
and,  as  he  did  so,  the  colonel  and  the  doctor 
heard  him  say,  "Well,  I'm  damned!"  The 
other  two  followed  up  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and,  when  they  had  emerged  through  the 
scuttle,  their  exclamations  were  patterned 
closely  after  the  same  order  of  profanity. 
And  well  they  might  be,  for  there,  leaping  and 
capering  about  the  roof  in  a  state  of  complete 
divestment,  was  a  thundering  old  graybeard. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  the  three  investigators  he 
gave  a  loud  whoop,  and,  springing  toward  the 
water  tank  with  a  monkey-like  agility,  plunged 
headlong  into  it. 

Coming  to  the  surface  with  much  heavy 
puffing,  he  hung  on  to  the  side  with  two  long, 
skinny  arms,  and  waggled  his  head  as  though 
it  was  set  on  a  universal  joint. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  there?" 
called  out  the  colonel,  who  was  the  first  to  find 
his  free  speech. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here?" 
yelled  out  the  man  in  the  tank;  "I'm  St. 
Peter,  and  I'm  walking  on  the  water,"  with 
which  he  splashed  about  with  his  feet  until 
one  would  have  thought  a  stern-wheeler  had 
got  into  the  reservoir.  "Git  outer  this,  you 
unsanctified  porkers,"  he  shouted;  "claw  your 
throats  and  run  down  some  steep  place  to  the 
sea.  Bring  along  my  rooster  and  I'll  drown 
it  before  he  has  a  chance  to  crow  once!"  As 
he  said  so,  he  unhooked  his  arms,  and,  scoop- 


138  SEVEN  SMILES 

ing  up  the  water  in  his  hands,  threw  it  in 
large  splashes  at  the  three  intruders  on  his 
saintly  ablutions. 

"By  St.  Peter  himself,  this  beats  the  ghost," 
said  Mr.  Wodin;  "what  lunatic  do  you  sup- 
pose this  is?" 

"You  have  hit  it  exactly,"  said  the  doctor; 
"this  undoubtedly  is  some  poor  lunatic  who 
has  escaped  from  that  asylum  over  there. 
The  moon  is  full,  you  see,  and,  as  this  is 
Christmas,  the  keepers  are  possibly  in  the 
same  condition.  This  old  chap  seems  to  be 
harmless,  and  we  may  as  well  let  him  take  his 
death  of  cold  as  shoot  him;  but  the  great 
question  is,  how  many  got  out  with  him?" 

"How  many?"  shrieked  St.  Peter  from  the 
water  tank;  "how  many  what?  How  many 
beans  make  five,  or  how  many  almanacs  make 
a  year?  Yah!"  splashing  furiously  with  his 
heels;  "you  make  me  sick,  you  and  the  rest 
of  your  generation  of  vipers.  I'll  see  to  it." 
He  made  as  though  he  would  leap  out,  but 
the  doctor,  walking  close  to  the  tank,  looked 
him  in  the  eye  and  quietly  told  him  to  stay 
where  he  was,  and  the  old  fellow  peaceably 
hooked  himself  on  once  more. 

"I'll  mount  guard  here,"  said  the  doctor, 
"while  you  go  and  hunt  up  the  piano-player. 
Doirt  hurt  him;  tell  him  to  be  quiet  in  your 
ordinary  voice,  and  he'll  mind  you." 

The  colonel  and  Mr.  Wodin  had  not  reached 
the  bathroom  floor  when  there  was  a  loud 
blowing  of  police  whistles  in  the  garden,  and 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  hall,  the  judge 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  139 

came  running  upstairs  to  inform  them  all  that 
a  couple  of  patients  had  escaped  from  the 
asylum,  and  that  the  keepers  were  out  in  force 
hunting  for  them. 

"Tell  them  to  come  up  and  get  on  the  roof 
and  they'll  find  one  of  them  in  the  water 
tank,"  said  Mr.  Wodin,  laughing;  "I  imagine, 
judge,  that  that  chap  must  be  your  visitor,  as 
well  as  Miss  Colby's  admirer.  The  other  fel- 
low can't  be  far  off.  At  any  rate,  he  was 
playing  a  hurricane  scherzo  on  my  poor  piano 
a  few  minutes  ago." 

St.  Peter  was  speedily  secured  and  brought 
down  through  the  trapdoor  by  the  anxious 
keepers.  He  was  re-clothed,  but  was  most  de- 
cidedly not  in  his  right  mind.  He  made  the 
company  a  disjointed  harangue,  in  a  voice  like 
a  steam  whistle,  then  broke  from  the  attend- 
ants, threw  a  handspring,  and  slid  down  the 
banisters  before  they  could  catch  him  again. 

His  companion  in  flight,  who  was  a  poor 
crazed  actor,  had  evidently  slipped  away  as 
soon  as  the  keeper's  whistle  was  heard,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  following  Thursday  that  he 
was  found  perched  on  a  rail  fence,  electrify- 
ing assembled  Milpitas  with  a  highly  original 
version  of  "Curfew  shall  not  Ring  To-night." 


"IF  THINE  ENEMY  THIRST.'* 

William  Higgins,  alias  Cockney  Bill,  alias  the  Cherub, 
alias  Vincent  de  Vere,  alias  the  Snoozer,  etc.,  loquitur, 
with  the  coughing  spells  omitted. 

IF  you'll  'ear ..my  gentle  voice— and  it's 
a-gettin'  bloomin'  gentle  now — there's  nothink 
so  heasy  as  preachin'.  Hit's  the  practicin' 
that's  so  bloody  'ard. 

'Ere  I  lies,  a  cawnvic'  in  the  'orspital  ward 
of  a  Hamerican  State  Prison,  a-coughin'  of 
my  blessid  lungs  out,  and  servin'  a  tenner  for 
'uggin'  of  a  dear  hold  gemmun  with  hundue 
haft'ection.  Yet  I  wos  a  good  little  bit  of  a 
chappie,  doncherno,  when  I  wos  a  kid.  I 
grew  up  good,  too;  used  to  be  p'inted  hotit 
has  a  lovely  hexample  at  the  Silver  Star  Mis- 
sion Sunday-school  in  Bleedin'  'Art  Yard — 
and,  snare  me  for  a  dickey-bird,  hif  I  didn't 
use  to  instruck  one  of  the  hinfant  classes  me- 
self.  So  you  see,  guv'nor,  that  I  knows  some- 
think  of  the  preachin'  part  of  the  bizness. 
And  now  I'll  tell  you  'ow  I  come  out  in  the 
practicin'. 

One  of  the  pawson  fellers  that  used  to  come 
to  the  mission  was  a  bloke  called  the  Reverind 
'Osea  Cawning.  'E  wos  a  'ard  un,  'e  wos — a 
regular  winegar  chap.  Yes,  blawst  me,  if  he 
wasn't  wus  than  winegar — he  wos  hall  bitin' 
hacid,  the  sorter  cove  that  wos  never  'appy 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS,  141 

'cept  he  wos  a-preachin'  'ell  and  damnation. 
I  never  wonst  'ear  'im  speak  of  Gord  as  a 
Gord  of  mercy,  but  allus  as  a  horful  bein'  of 
wengeance  and  punishment.  Maybe  hif  'e 
'adeut  'a'  been  so  free  of  'is  hacid  and  not  so 
bloody  kayrful  of 'is  'oney,  Ishouldn'  be  'ere. 
But  you  cavvn't  tell,  doncherno.  I  guess, 
arter  all,  I  was  cut  out  for  a  baddun — a  hout 
and  hout  baddun. 

I  wos  a-commin'  down  Haldget  Street  one 
doiy,  when  I  see  Pawson  Cawning  a-chinnin' 
it  with  a  big,  fat  cove — one  of  those  'ere  solid 
ole  duffers  that  looks  as  hif  they  wos  stuffed 
out  with  Bank  of  Hingland  notes.  The  paw- 
son  'ad  a  little  book  in  'is  'and,  and  pretty 
soon  I  see  old  money-bags  put  'is  fat  fore- 
finger in  'is  weskit-pockit  and  'ook  out  a 
couple  of  sovs.  Then  the  pawson  wrote  some- 
think  down  in  the  little  book,  and  dropped 
the  yellow-boys  in  'is  purse. 

"Beggin'  again,"  I  says,  says  I  to  myself,  an* 
s5elp  me  Bawb  hif  I  wasn't  goin'  to  turn  an' 
walk  awoiy,  rather  than  speak  to  'is  nibsey, 
the  pawson,  when  I  see  'im  do  somethink  which 
med  my  berlood  run  cold.  You  see,  sir,  it 
'appened  in  this  woy.  In  sayin'  good-by  to 
the  rich  cove,  the  pawson  got  a  little  flurrid, 
doncherno,  and  instead  of  puttin'  the  purse 
in  'is  hinside  coat-pockit,  and  the  little  book 
wot  'ad  the  names  down  on  it  in  'is  houtside 
coat-pockit,  strike  me  ugly  hif  'e  didn't  but- 
ton up  the  little  book  in  'is  hinside  pockit, 
and  drop  the  purse  into  the  pockit  of  'is  top- 


142  SEVEN  SMILES 

coat.  Has  quick  as  I  see  this,  I  says  to  my- 
self, says  I: 

''Now,  'ere's  the  pawson  gone  and  put  'is 
purse  w'ere  every  young  crook  can  feel  hit 
a-bulgin%  even  if  'is  fingers  wos  hall 
thumbs.  Just  to  think  now,  the  pawson 
will  lose  all  that  blessid  money  wot  Vs  been 
workin'  so  'ard  to  rake  in,  an'  the  poor  'eathin 
won't  get  a  blessid  fawthin'.  Now,"  I  says, 
says  I,  "I'll  jus'  let  'im  know  wot  a  hawful 
mistake  he's  made." 

With  that,  I  walks  up  be'ind  the  pawson, 
and  slips  my  'and  into  'is  pocket,  just  to  show 
'im  where  the  bloomin'  purse  wos,  when  'e 
turned  like  lightniuk  and  grabs  me  by  the 
wrist. 

"Ah,  you  young  rascal,"  he  says,  says  'e, 
"pick  my  pockit,  would  you?" 

Then,  as  'e  looks  at  me  close:  "Gracious 
'evins/'  'e  cries,  "ef  it  ain't  young  'Iggins,  of 
the  mission!  Wot  baseness!  Wot  a  hawful 
hingrate!" 

I  told  'im  I  wos  only  goin'  to  take  'is  purse 
hout  of  'is  pocket  and  give  it  to  'im,  so  as  'e 
could  put  it  sommers  safe,  but  'e  only  larfed 
a  nawsty,  'orrid  larf,  that  sounded  like  as  hif 
'e  was  sharpenin'  a  knife  for  me  on  a  steel 
foile. 

When  I  see  that  'e  wouldn't  believe  me,  I 
struggled  to  get  awoiy,  but  'e  gripped  my 


wrist  with  sich  a  horful  grip,  that  'e  activally 

felt  it  go 
begged   'im,  for  Gord's  sake,  to  let  me  hoff, 


broke  one  of  the  bones.  I  felt  it  go  snap,  an' 
begged  'im,  for  Gord's  sake,  to  let  me  hoff, 
but  'e  only  larfed  again  —  that  orful  larf,  and 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  143 

said  that,  s'elp  Mm  'evin,  'e  would  make  a  wuss 
example  of  me  nor  wos  ever  Lot's  wife.  With 
that,  'e  'anded  me  hover  to  a  cop,  wot  seized 
me  by  the  shoulder  w'ile  the  pawson — an'  it's 
the  gorspel  truth  I'm  a-tellin'  you,  guv'nor — 
kep'  a  'old  on  the  broken  wrist  an'  kep' 
a-grindin'  away  at  the  loose  bones,  until  w'eai 
I  gets  to  the  station  'ouse  I  wos  dead  foint 
with  the  sickness  of  it.  Even  the  cop  see 
that  I  worn't  shammin',  but  the  pawson,  'e 
hinsisted  that  I  was  a  young  reprobate,  that 
'e  'ad  discovered  my  true  character  the  first 
moment  he'd  fixed  'is  peepers  on  my  'aud- 
some  mug — and  so  they  shoved  me  into 
chokey.  Then  'e  wanted  to  come  in  and  proy 
with  me,  but  the  sergeant,  'e  gave  the  pawson 
a  queer  kind  of  a  look  loike,  up  and  down — 
so  fawshin,  doncherno — and  says,  says  'e, 
'twas  "again'  the  regilations." 

The  pawson  was  there  bright  an'  early  nex* 
mawning,  an'  I  thought  at  fust  'e  wasn't 
a-goin'  to  happear  ag'in'  me,  but  bless  'is 
Christian  'eart,  I'm  jiggered  if  'e  didn't  want 
ter  proy  with  me  ag'in.  I  begged  'im  to  let 
my  pore  mother  know  where  I  wos,  but  'e  said 
she  would  be  much  better  hoff  to  be  rid  of  me, 
and  that,  w'en  I  got  hout  of  jail,  I  could  go 
bajok  to  'er  a  better  man.  Then  I  begged  'im 
to  give  me  another  chawnce,  but  'e  said  'e 
might  *av*  if  I  'adn't  tried  to  steal  the  Lord's 
money,  and  that  nothink  could  move  'im. 

Of  course  I  wos  committed,  altho'  the 
superintendent  of  the  mission  gave  me  a  han- 
gelic  character.  The  pawson,  'owever,  got  m 


144  SEVEN  SMILES 

a  regilar  black  heye  to  anythink  like  hextenu- 
ating  circumstances  by  saying  that  I  wos  a 
'ipercriteof  the  most  hout  and  hout  koind,  an* 
the  beak  giv'  me  seven  year  at  Pentonville. 

I  got  hout  in  somethink  over  six  year,  on 
haccount  of  my  good-condick  credits.  The 
chaplain  at  Pentonville  wos  a  very  different 
snoozer  to  the  Eev.  'Osea  Cawning,  and  when 
I'd  made  my  time,  'e  hadvised  me  to  get  away 
from  Lunnon — to  leave  hold  Hingland,  in 
fack — and  begin  life  ag'in  in  a  new  world. 
JE  did  more  nor  giv' me  had  vice — which  is  the 
cheapest  kind  of  picnic — 'e  give  me  a  letter 
to  a  brother  of  'is,  the  capt'in  hof  a  ship  that 
wos  a-goin'  hout  to  Hinjy.  I  'ad  'elped  in 
the  kitchen  of  the  joil,  on  account  of  my 
broken  wrist,  and  'twas  agreed  that  I  should 
be  shipped  as  cook's  mate.  The  capt'in  wos 
just  as  noice  a  man  as  'is  brother,  the  chapPin; 
an'  I  felt,  an'  hit's  the  simple  Gord's  truth, 
that  I  intended  to  start  right  bin  an'  be  just 
as  bloomin'  good  as  I  knew  'ow.  For  the  first 
two  doiys,  'owever,  I  wos  so  hawful  beastly 
sick  that  I  didn't  care  w'ether  I  wos  good  or 
bad.  I  just  wanted  to  doie,  or  be  'eaved 
hoverboard,  and  'owever  I  managed  to  stand 
up  in  that  'orrid  galley,  I  cawn't  make  hout. 
I  stuck  to  it,  though,  while  my  pore  stum- 
mick  and  'eart  wos  both  in  my  throat  most  of 
the  time. 

Just  as  I'd  got  these  innerds  in  their  proper 
position,  stroike  me  hugly  hif  they  wosn't  all 
turned  topsy-turvy  again.  I  wos  coming  hout 
of  the  galley  one  mornin'  with  a  big  tooreen 


A  FEW  FIBS.  145 

of  pease-soup  in  my  'ands,  when  who  should 
I  see,  sittin'  in  a  chair  on  the  quarterdeck, 
but  the  Rev.  'Osea  Cawning.  It  knocked  me 
so  bloody  silly  that  I  dropped  thetooreen  onto 
the  deck.  That  wos  the  beginnin'  of  my 
troubles  there,  for  when  the  bo'sun's  mate 
turned  round  at  the  row  and  see  the  greasy 
slush  a-runnin'  down  the  planks  to  the  scup- 
pers, he  fetched  me  such  a  horrible  lick  across 
the  shoulders  with  a  rope's  hend,  that  I  actu- 
ally thought  'e  'ad  broken  my  spoine.  I  let 
out  a  screech  that  must  'ave  waked  up  the 
whole  ship.  At  hanyrate,  it  woke  up  the 
pawson,  and  as  soon  as  'e  see  me,  'e  knew  me. 

"Merciful  'evins!"  he  cries,  "hif  it  hain't 
that  bloody-minded  joilbird,  young  'Iggins!" 

Well,  guv'nor,  you  kin  imagine  wot  my  life 
was  hon  board  ship  arter  that.  The  capt'in 
stood  up  like  a  reg'lar  brick  and  said  'e 
knowed  hit  hall  when  I  shipped;  but  the  paw- 
son  declared  that  'e  wouldn't  sleep  comfor'a- 
ble  so  long  as  I  wos  aboard,  and  that  hit  would 
be  Gord's  mercy  hif  I  did  not  blow  hup  the 
'ole  bloomin'  craft.  My  life  wos  just  a  'ell, 
sir,  for  the  nex'  two  weeks,  and  I  howes  it  all 
to  that  servint  of  the  meek  and  lowly. 

Jest  at  the  time  when  I  wos  a-thinkin'  of 
either  cuttin'  the  pawson's  throat  with  the 
carvin'-knife,  or  throwin'  myself  hoverboard, 
a  fire  broke  hout  about  midnight  in  the  cargo 
— w'ich  wos  mostly  furniture  and  coal-oil — 
and  there  was  hold  'Arry  to  pay.  Hi  say  hit 
wos  spontanyous  combusti'n — or  a  wisitation 
of  Providence;  but  strike  me  bloind,  guv'nor, 


146  SEVEN  SMILES 

hif  that  pawson  didn't  go  an'  lay  it  hall  along 
to  me.  There  wasn't  time,  'owsomever,  to 
show  Cawning  'ow  mistaken  'e  wos,  for  the 
cargo  was  hall  in  a  bloize  afore  you  could  say 
'anky-panky,  just  for  hall  the  world  as  hif  it 
'ad  been  set  a-fire  to  in  'arf  a  dozen  places  at 
wonst. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  mawnin',  the 
vessel  was  flame  and  smoke  from  hend  to 
hend,  and  we  'ad  to  take  to  the  boats;  There 
wos  only  two  of  these  that  wos  big  enough,  or 
stawnch  enough,  to  be  of  hany  use,  and  there 
wos  such  a  horful  sight  of  smoke  and  smeach 
a-pourink  up  between  liev'ry  plank,  that  we 
tumbled  into  these  without  border.  Hev'ry- 
body,  of  course,  wanted  to  be  in  the  first  boat, 
and  the  consekevence  wos  that,  when  she 
pulled  hoff,  she  wos  a-loaded  down  till  the  sea 
come  just  a  hinch  or  two  from  her  gunnell. 
The  capt'in  tried  to  keep  hup  discipline,  but 
'twasn't  no  use;  and  as  I  wos  small  and  weak, 
I  wos  beat  back  and  'ad  to  get  into  the  port 
boat,  which  wos  just  where  the  bloomin' 
smoke  wos  the  'eaviest  and  most  smotherink. 
Gord  wos  a-watchink  hover  me,  you  see,  sir — 
for  I  'ear  tell  arterwards  that  hev'rybody  in 
the  first  boat  was  drownded,  and  I  know  that 
hev'rybody  in  our  boat  died — 'cept  this  'ere 
brannd  from  the  burnink. 

As  soon  as  I  felt  myself  in  the  boat — and 
jiminy  craminy,  wot  a  black  night  it  was — I 
crawled  up  to  the  bow  and  stowed  away  in 
there  a  bag  of  biskivits  and  a  'arf  bottle  of 
sherry  wine,  which  we  'ad  in  the  galley  for 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  14? 

cookin'.  I  didn't  saynothink  about  the  swag, 
cos  you  see,  sir,  I  didn't  know  'ow  much  tuck 
there  wos  in  the  boat,  and  I  thought  I  'ad  bet- 
ter wait  a  bit  an'  see  which  way  the  cat's  meat 
wos  a-valkin'  afore  I  let  pussy  out  of  the  bag. 
Well,  sir,  it  wos  just  a  bloomin'  good  job  that 
I  did,  for  when  we  looked  around  in  the 
mawnin',  you  can  tickle  me  to  death  with  a 
'ot  feather,  hif  it  didn't  turn  out  that  there 
wasn't  a  crumb  or  a  drop  on  board.  Hev'ry- 
body  'ad  thought  that  hev'rybody  helse  wos 
a-goin'  to  look  arter  the  grub,  and,  of  course, 
wot  wos  hev'rybody's  bizness  wos  nobody's 
bizness,  and  there  we  wos,  four  people,  and 
the  boat  as  hempty  as  Old  Mother  'Ubbard's 
pauntry.  We  'ad  kep'  with  the  hother  boat  as 
long  as  we  could  see  it  by  the  light  of  the 
burnin'  wessel;  but  when  that  went  out,  and 
she  went  down,  we  soon  lost  each  hother  on 
haccount  of  a  low  mist  that  lay  on  the  water 
like  steam. 

The  rosy,  bloomin'  dawrn  showed  me  an- 
other thing — it  showed  me  a  sweet  and  lovely 
gemmen  sleepin'  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
with  'is  'at  horf  and  'is  foice  all  smudged  up 
with  smoke.  It  wos  the  Reverind  'Osea 
Cawning.  I  carn't  hexplain  to  you,  sir,  just 
'ow  it  wos;  but  w'en  I  see  'im  sprawled  out 
there,  with  'is  'ead  doddlin'  this  woiy  and 
that,  I  feel  somethink  come  hover  me  like  a 
'ot  and  cold  flush  all  to  wonst — just  as  I  re- 
member 'avin'  'ad  w'en  I  wos  took  down  with 
the  smallpox.  I  felt  as  though  somethink 


US  BE  YEN  SMILES 

wos  goin'  to  'appen,  and  as  though  I  wos 
goin'  to  be  right  in  the  middle  of  it. 

The  sun  jumped  hout  of  the  sea,  like  a  red- 
'ot  cannon-ball,  and  by  the  time  it  wos  hover- 
'ead,  hit  wos  a  white-'ot  cannon-ball.  'Oly 
Moses,  but  that  doiy  wos  a  blisterer,  and 
about  'arf-past  four,  one  of  us,  a  Norway  fel- 
ler, that  'ad  got  badly  'urt  in  the  'ead  by  the 
pump-wheel,  just  stretched  'imself  hout  an* 
died.  The  pawson  kept  a-snoozin'  hall  doiy, 
with  'is  'ead  under  one  of  the  seats,  an'  the 
hother  feller,  a  hold  man  'e  wos,  and  I  think 
a  Hirishman,  set  on  the  gunnel  paddlin'  'is 
feet  in  the  water,  an'  dippin'  'is  straw  'at  in 
the  sea  to  keep  'is  'ead  cool.  Gord  love  ye, 
sir,  'e  moight  just  as  well  'ave  dipped  'is  'at 
in  'ot  water,  for  the  sea  itself  seemed  to  be 
a-bilin'. 

There  wasn't  breeze  enough  to  lift  a 
chickadee's  feather,  an'  'twas  so  bloomin' 
'ot  that  I  couldn't  wink  my  heyelids,  they 
wos  that  droy.  Hof  course  I  didn't  dare  say  a 
word  about  the  biskivits  an'  sherry,  cos  I 
knew  there  wasn't  enough  to  go  aroun',  an'  I 
didn't  want  any  blarsted  row  about  it,  don- 
cherno?  So  I  suffered  with  the  rest  on  'em 
durin'  the  doiy,  but  w'en  the  sun  dropped 
down  into  the  sea,  so  like  a  red-'ot  cannon- 
ball  again  that  you  could  'ear  it  'iss,  an'  it  got 
dark  with  a  rush,  I  just  took  a  nibble  at  a 
biskivit  an'  a  swig  or  two  at  the  sherry,  an' 
went  to  sleep  feelin'  quite  comfor'ble.  W'en 
I  woke  next  doiy,  the  Hirisli  sailor-man  wos 
gone,  so  I  suppose  'e  toppled  hoif  the  gunnel 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  149 

during  the  night.  The  pawson  wos  still  a 
lyin'  hou  his  back  in  the  middle  of  the  boat, 
with  'is  'ead  hunder  the  seat,  so,  as  I  felt 
kind  of  peckish,  doncherno,  I  raked  hout  my 
tuck  an'  'elped  myself  to  a  biskivit  or  two  an' 
another  good  swig  of  the  wine.  It  must  'av* 
been  the  gurgle  of  the  sherry  that  woke  up 
the  pawson,  for  w'en  I  turned  around  hafter 
puttin'  the  bottle  back  in  its  place,  there  wos 
the  Rev.  'Osea  Cawning  wrigglin'  hout  from 
under  the  seat  like  a  long  black  worm.  Not- 
withstandin'  the  shelter  of  the  seat,  'is  'ead 
looked  like  a  roasted  skull,  with  'orrid  streaks 
of  'air  an'  dirt  hall  over  it,  an'  w'ile  'e  stead- 
ied 'imself  with  one  'and,  'e  clawed  in  the 
hair  with  the  hother,  and  pointed  to  w'ere  I 
knows  'is  mouth  wos,  although  I  could  see 
nothink  but  a  black  crack.  I  thought,  too,  I 
see  'im  makin'  a  sort  of  a  movement  with  this 
crack  that  looked  like  "  'Iggins!"  Arter 
sittin'  a  w'ile  an'  lookin'  hat  'im  an'  thinkin' 
bloody  'ard,  I  goes  hover  an'  sits  down  on  the 
seat  'longside  of  'im. 

"Feelin'  horful  bad,  pawson?"  I  asks  'im, 
kind  of  sympathetic-loike. 

'E  rolls  up  'is  bloodshot  eyes  at  me,  and 
nods  'is  'ead. 

Then;  some  'ow,  I  couldn'  'elp  sayin': 
"You've  made  me  feel  horful  bad  in  your 
doiy,  pawson,"  says  I. 

'E  shook  'is  'ead,  piteous-loike,  an'  pointed 
agin  to  w'ere  'is  mouth  wos. 

"Do  you  remember  that  doiy  w'en  yon 
broke  my  wrist — this  wrist?"  I  says,  puttin' 


150  SEVEN  SMILES 

it  right  in  front  of  'im,  so  that  'e  coulcln'  'elp 
seein'  it — "an'  kep'  a-grindin'  and  a-grindin' 
at  it  with  such  a  horful  pain  that  it  makes  me 
sick  even  now  to  think  of  it?  Do  you  remem- 
ber all  that,  pawson?" 

'E  tried  to  bring  'is  two  'ands  together  as 
though  'e  wos  beggin'  for  mercy;  but  'e 
couldn'  do  it,  an'  fell  back  in  a  'eap,  loike  a 
bundle  of  dirty  clothes. 

-  "And  do  you  remember,"  I  goes  hon, 
"  'ow  you  wouldn'  rest  until  you  'ad  me  be- 
'ind  the  prison  bars  and  made  me  a  regular 
joil-bird?" 

'E  rolls  'is  'ead  about  and  sort  of  blows  out  a 
Sound  that  seemed  like  "Forgive  me."  I  wos 
very  glad  to  'ear  'im  say  that,  doncherno,  cos 
it  sounded  as  though  'e  wos  a-beginnin'  to 
realize  wot  a  bloody  bad  friend  'e  'ad  been  to 
me.  So  I  went  on: 

"And  do  you  remember,"  I  says,  says  I, 
"  'ow,  as  soon  as  you  found  hout  I  wos  on 
board  the  Eron,  you  started  hin  to  make  my 
life  a  'ell  for  me?" 

Then  I  says:  "Cos  hif  you  don't,  /do,  an' 
damn  well,  too,  doncherno." 

I  stops  a  minnit,  lookin'  down  at  the  paw- 
son  as  'e  clawed  about  with  'is  'ands,  then  I 
goes  on  again,  an'  I  says,  says  I: 

"Talkin's  bloody  dry  work;  it's  about  time 
I  took  a  nip." 

I  watches  the  pawson  as  I  says  this,  an'  I 
sees  'is  chest  'eave  hup  and  down,  an'  'is 
heyesturn  just  as  I've  seen  a  'are's  heyes  turn 
w'en  the  bloody  yelpin'  pack  of  'ounds  wos 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  151 

close  onto  'er.  So  I  steps  back  to  the  bow  of 
the  boat,  an',  takin'  hout  the  sherry  bottle,  I 
wets  hit  in  the  sea  onst  or  twice,  then  lets  it 
dry  in  the  sun — which  wos  a  trick  for  coolin' 
things  hoff  that  I  'ad  learned  from  the  cook. 
Sittin'  down  on  the  seat  'longside  'im  again, 
I  puts  the  bottle  hup  to  my  lips  an'  takes  a 
good  gurglin'  drink — only  'twas  more  gurgle 
than  drink.  Wen  the  pawson  see  an'  'ear  me 
a-doin'  this,  'e  hacts  just  like  a  bloomin' 
loonatic,  or  rather  more  like  a  dorg  in  a  fit. 
'E  struggles,  and  yelps,  and  fights  bin  the 
hair  with  'is  fists,  while  a  reddish-black  froth 
comes  np  to  'is  mouth. 

"  'Old  on,  pawson,"  I  says,  says  I,  "you'll 
do  yourself  a  hinjury  hif  you  go  hon  a-hactin' 
like  that.  I've  been  a-tellin'  you  'ow  you've 
served  me — you  a  minister  of  the  blessed  gors- 
pel  of  good-will  toward  man — an'  now  I'm 
a-goin'  to  show  you  'ow  your  hown  pet  joil- 
bird  'as  learned  'ow  to  return  good  for  hevil. 
I  might  say  somethink  about  a  kiss  for  a  blow, 
but  you're  such  a  'ijus-lookin'  bloke,  sich  a 
mis'rable,  horful-lookin'  hobjick,  that,  blow 
me  tight,  hiff  I  think  as  'ow  your  hown  mother 
would  kiss  you.  You  know,  pawson,"  I  says, 
says  I,  "I  remember  when  I  wos  a  little  kid  at 
the"  Silver  Star  Mission,  back  in  Lunnon,  that 
I  learned  a  text— and  dam'  me  hif  I  don't 
think  I  learned  hit  from  you — a  text  w'ich 
said  as  'ow  'Hif  thine  henemy  thirst,  give  'im 
drink.'  Now,  'ere  we  bar,  hafioat  on  the 
broad  and  bloody  hocean,  with  horful  death 
a-starin'  us  in  the  face;  me  a  houtcast  and  a 


152  SEVEN  SMILES 

child  hof  sin,  and  you  a  'oly  man  of  Gord. 
Now,  you've  boon  my  henemy  ever  since  you 
set  your  bloom  in'  hopticks  on  me,  yet  I'm 
a-goin'  to  foller  the  command  of  the  good 
book,  and  I'm  a-goin'  to  give  my  henemy 
drink.  'Cos  why;  'cos  'e's  my  henemy,  an' 
'cos  'e's  thirsty — hawful,  beastly,  ravin', 
TEARIN',  'OWLIN'  thirsty— an*  I'm  a-goin' 
to  give  'im  hall  'e  wants  to  drink." 

I  'ad  a  hold  tarpaulin  'at  on,  and  steppin' 
down  the  boat  toward  the  stern,  so  that  the 
pawson  couldn't  see  me,  I  filled  it  right  hup 
with  nice,  green,  lukeivarm,  salt-sea  water. 
Then  liftin'  hup  'is  'ead  with  one  'and,  I 
pried  hopen  'is  gap  of  a  mouth  with  my 
thumb,  and  let  'im  drink  the  'ole  blessed 
'atful! 

For  a  minnit  or  two,  he  lay  still  and  con- 
tented loike,  with  the  salt  water  a-drivilin' 
hotit  of  the  corners  of  'is  mouth  and  with  'is 
'ands  lyin'  across  on  'is  'oly  bussim.  Then 
in  a  few  minnits  he  seemed  to  grow  hunheasy; 
then  'e  bent  hisself  hup  in  the  middle  as 
though  'e  'ad  been  squeezed  in  from  both 
bends;  then  'e  staggered  to  'is  knees  and  feet, 
and  with  a  'orrid  screech  of  "Glory,"  threw 
hisself  hoverboard. 

And  then,  sir,  just  to  show  'ow  a  kind  Gord 
watches  over  them  wot  does  'is  biddin',  a  big 
steamer  comes  right  'longside  in  less  than  six 
hours,  and  Bill  'Iggins,  the  Cherub,  was  saved. 


HE  KEPT  THE  ENGAGEMENT. 

"THIS  is  my  stopping-place,"  she  said,  ''and 
I  want  to  thank  you  once  more  for  the  lunch- 
eon. The  lobster  was  delicious,  and  I  quite 
agree  with  you  that,  broiled,  'it's  the  loveli- 
est bird  that  flies.'  " 

"If  you  say  you  enjoyed  the  lunch,"  said 
he,  "that  makes  it  a  success,  and  I'm  de- 
lighted. I'm  not  delighted,  though,  at  hav- 
ing to  say  good-by,  even,"  he  added,  with  a 
deprecatory  smile,  "if  it  is  when  leaving  you 
at  your  shopping-place." 

"Yes,"  she  replied  gently,  "it  is,  I  believe, 

Suite  a  man's  bore  to  shop  with  a  woman; 
ut  you  misunderstood  me — I  said  'stopping- 
place.'  That  is,  I  was  here  this  morning  at 
ten,  and  I  stop  here  from  now  until  five 
o'clock  this  evening." 

"Well,"  said  her  companion,  with  his  pleas- 
ant laugh,  "I  knew  it  took  an  awful  long  time 
to  try  on  a  dress,  but  surely  it  cannot  take  all 
day — unless,"  he  added,  with  a  quick,  troubled 
look,  "unless  vou  are  having  a  tr — a  com- 
plete outfit." 

"But,  you  see,"  she  answered,  still  gently, 
and  leading  him  into  the  entry  hall  of  the 
fashionable  modiste,  at  whose  door  they  had 


154  SEVEN  SMILES 

halted,  "I  am  not  going  to  try  on  any  dress  or 
dresses,  I  am  going  to  iit  them  on." 

And  then  she  looked  squarely  at  him  with 
her  frank,  brown  eyes,  and  added:  "Mr. 
Van  Rensselaer,  I  am  learning  to  be  a  dress- 
maker." 

"What?"  he  gasped. 

"Just  that,"  she  replied.  "No  doubt  you 
think  it  a  very  queer,  an  incomprehensible, 
perhaps  a  degrading  thing.  My  father,  as  I 
told  you  last  summer  at  Setauket,  is  professor 
of  literature  at  Manhattan  College.  I  was 
educated  in  Europe,  am  supposed  to  speak 
three  languages  besides  my  own,  and  have 
had  two  years  of  art  training  at  Munich,  yet 
I  am  going  to  be  a  dressmaker.  And  why 
not?  Dressmakers  earn  good  wages;  their 
occupation  is  an  eminently  respectable  one, 
and  I  have  said  to  myself — If  people  with  no 
artistic  advantage  do  so  well  at  the  trade,  why 
cannot  a  woman  of  education,  and  the  finer 
feeling  that  comes  from  birth  and  training, 
elevate  dressmaking  into  a  fine  art,  and  find 
dignity  as  well  as  emolument  in  the  calling? 
So  I  decided  to  learn  dressmaking.  At  pres- 
ent I  am  assistant  to  Madame  Poplin,  and 
next  April  papa  has  promised  to  find  me  a 
parlor — or  studio,  as  we  are  going  to  call  it — on 
Madison  Avenue,  where  I  can  open  for  myself. 
Some  of  my  girl  friends  think  the  idea  horrid, 
and  some  of  them  think  it  just  wise  and  splen- 
did. I  have  not  told  any  of  the  fellows  yet — 
that  is,  you  are  the  first  of  them — and  now,  I 
wonder,"  she  concluded  a  little  wistfully, 
"what  you  will  think  of  it." 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  155 

His  open  hand  was  stretched  out  to  her  in 
an  instant. 

"Why,  what  is  there  to  think,"  he  said 
warmly,  "except  that  you  are  doing  a  wise, 
brave,  self-helpful  thing?" 

"I  am  very  pleased  to  hear  you  say  so,"  she 
said  simply.  "I  am  always  home  on  Wednes- 
day evenings,  Mr.  Van  Kensselaer,  as  you 
know,  and  I  want  to  hear  you  sing.  I  under- 
stand too,  that  you  play  excellently  well  on 
the  banjo.  Come  up,  and  bring  your  instru- 
ment, won't  you?" 

The  young  man  nervously  fastened  and  un- 
fastened a  glove,  looking  at  the  button  as  though 
it  were  a  problem  in  attire;  then  straightened 
himself  up  bravely. 

"Miss  Cruger,"  he  said,  with  a  little  gulp 
in  his  voice,  "you  have  heard  me  both  sing 
and  play." 

"1?"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  surely  not; 
unless  it  was  unknowingly  at  Setauket." 

"No,"  he  said;  "1  do  not  mean  there. 
You  heard  me  last  Thursday." 

"Last  Thursday?"  she  repeated.  "I  do. 
not  comprehend." 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  suppose  you  do, 
But  you  will.  I  am  troubled  with  a  big  name, 
and  very  little  else,"  he  went  on.  "My 
friends  have  laughed  when  I  have  talked  about 
working,  but  I  know  better  than  they  the 
necessities  of  the  case,  and  I  determined  to 
help  myself.  I  used  to  be  a  prominent  mem^ 
ber  of  the  Yale  Banjo  and  Glee  Club,  and  one 
day  I  spoke  to  a  fellow  who  knew  another 


15G  SEVEN  SMILES 

fellow  in  the  theatrical  business,  and  I  got  an 
engagement  to  sing  and  play  at  St.  Joseph's 
Hall,  where  you  heard  me  last  Thursday 
night,  for  I  saw  you  in  front.  Not  a  soul  of 
my  set  knows  it,  not  even  my  mother,  but  I 
shall  tell  you,  Miss  Cruger,  I  am  Billy  Brown, 
the  King  Vocalist  and  Monarch  of  the  Banjo." 

This  time  it  was  the  girl  who  put  out  her 
hand. 

"You  poor  boy,"  she  said,  in  her  gentle 
voice — and  dear  me,  what  a  particularly  gen- 
tle voice  she  had. 

"Well,  as  to  being  poor,"  he  replied,  with 
a  smile,  half-doleful,  half-whimsical,  "I  am 
earning  fifty  dollars  a  week." 

"Oh,  are  you,  indeed?"  she  cried.  "Why, 
I  am  only  getting  twenty  dollars  a  week 
with  Madame  Poplin." 

"Well,"  he  said  cheerily,  "fifty  and  twenty 
are  seventy,  I  believe." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  I  must  be  as  readily 
arithmetical,  for  it  is  ten  minutes  past  one, 
and  I  must  take  my  one  from  this  two  and 
tun  away  to  work." 

"Just  one  minute,  Miss  Cruger,"  he  said, 
putting  out  an  arm  to  bar  her  passage.  "Look 
up,  please.  I  always  did  think  you  had  the 
sweetest  eyes  in  New  York,  and  used  to  long 
to  say  so  at  Setauket.  Look,  Miss  Cruger; 
look,  Ethel;  look,  dear.  Ah,  that's  it.  I 
want  to  see  your  eyes  looking  up  just  like 
that." 

"And  what  for,  pray?"  she  asked,  a  little 
laintly. 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  157 

"Because  I  want  to  look  down  into  them, 
and  ask  them  and  their  dear,  brave,  little 
owner  a  question." 

She  did  not  ask  what  the  question  was,  but 
theie  was  a  tremulousness  about  the  lower  lip 
that  made  his  heart  tremulous,  too,  for  the 
very  joy  of  seeing  it,  and  so  he  went  on: 

"Ethel,  if  I  were  to  marry  a  dressmaker, 
would  you  marry  a  nigger  minstrel?" 

But  she  slipped  by  him  and  ran  upstairs. 
Then,  when  halfway  up,  she  turned  and 
beamed  upon  him,  until  the  motes  in  the  air 
danced  as  in  a  sunbeam. 

"Come  down  at  five  and  take  me  home, 
dear,"  she  said. 


THE  MAGIC   MIRROR. 

I  AM  sure  I  do  not  know  whether  I  did 
right,  or  whether,  indeed,  I  am  responsible 
for  what  happened,  but  you  shall  be  the  judge. 
Besides  which,  it  will  be  quite  a  comfort  to 
tell  you  the  truth  about  the  awful  affair. 

When  Lieutenant  Gaynor  came  home  last 
January  from  a  three  years'  cruise  on  the 
Asiatic  Station  we  were  not  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried, but  we  had  been  sweethearts  all  our  lives. 
As  you  know,  I  had  lived  with  his  mother 
and  sister  at  Culpepper  ever  since  my  parents 
died,  and  was  daughter  and  sister  to  them  in 
all  but  the  name;  and  that  was  to  be  given  me 
as  soon  as  Roy  said  the  word.  So  when  he 
swung  himself  off  the  car  steps,  before  the 
train  had  really  stopped,  he  held  out  his  arms 
to  us  all  as  we  ran  down  the  platform  to  meet 
him,  and  took  us  all  in  and  kissed  us  all  alike. 
Ko,  not  all  alike  either,  for  he  kissed  his 
mother  and  me  again,  after  the  general  wel- 
come; and  while  he  saluted  them  by  name,  he 
had  for  me  a  tenderer  title. 

"Not  a  day  older,  mother — not  a  day!"  he 
sang  out  in  what  we  used  to  call  his  northwest 
voice,  as  soon  as  we  were  all  in  the  dear  little 
wainscoted  sitting-room.  "Here  you  are  fifty 
-^fifty  what  is  it  now? — fifty-five,  and  not  a 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  159 

gray  hair  in  your  head,  while  I'm  getting  to 
look  like  a  badger  about  the  temples." 

But  that  was  not  so,  for  his  hair  was  as 
brown  as  mine;  and,  indeed,  why  should  it 
not  be,  when  he  was  only  twenty -nine?  But 
it  was  ever  the  way  of  Koy  not  to  be  serious 
about  himself. 

"And,  sis,"  he  went  on,  "you're  bidding 
fair  to  be  as  good-looking  as  mother,  and 
that's  all  you  want.  I'll  wager  a  month's  pay 
that  I  don't  find  you  here  when  I  get  buck 
from  my  next  cruise.  Oh,  I  hear  things,  even 
if  you  don't  write  but  once  every  six  months!" 

"Well,"  said  Tirisa,  "I  knew  Jean  was 
writing  you  two  letters  by  each  mail,  and  I 
thought  that  was  enough  from  one  post 
office." 

"Yes,  dear  heart,"  said  Roy,  coming  over 
to  where  I  sat,  "you  are  the  best  and  most 
forgiving  of  correspondents,  and  I  am  the 
worst  and  most  exacting." 

From  this  you  will  see  that  the  affectionate 
relations  existing  between  us  then  were  ac- 
cepted by  us  all,  even  if  they  were  not  quite 
formally  defined. 

After  dinner  Roy  opened  his  big  leather 
portmanteau  and  brought  out  his  "presents." 
FQY  his  mother  there  was  a  lovely  India  shawl 
and  a  pair  of  Chinese  porcelain  candlesticks; 
for  Tirisa,  a  set  of  Ceylonese  silver  toilet  cups 
and  trays;  and  for  me,  two  unset  rubies,  a 
cobweb  scarf  of  India  silk,  and  a  mirror. 

"You  know,  folks,"  said  Roy,  after  he  had 
been  hugged  again  to  suffocation  point,  and 


160  SEVEN  SMILES 

was  sitting  smoking  his  cigar,  with  us  three 
women  grouped  about  him,  "Uncle  Sam's  pay 
schedule  does  not  allow  much  spending 
money " 

He  was  summarily  shut  off  at  this  point  by 
a  trio  of  protests  and  a  threat  that  if  another 
word  were  said  on  that  subject  all  the  presents 
would  be  sent  back  to  the  ship. 

"Allow  me  to  say,  then,"  he  went  on,  "that 
your  mirror,  Jean,  requires  a  word  of  explana- 
tion. Let  me  have  it  a  moment,  dear." 

I  handed  it  to  him,  and  he  continued: 

"'Tis  not  much  to  look  at,  you  see;  yet 
that's  all  a  mirror  is  for,  isn't  it?  I  knew 
you  liked  odd  things,  Jean,  and  so  one  day  at 
Cairo,  after  we  had  come  through  the  canal,  I 
went  down  among  the  bazaars  on  a  still  hunt. 
The  trouble  was,  there  were  too  many  things 
to  choose  from.  Such  a  collection  of  the 
beautiful  and  the  odd  as  those  old  squatting 
fellows  had  I  never  saw.  Oh,  have  no  fear — 
I'm  not  going  to  try  any  catalogue  work.  I'll 
leave  that  for  story  writers.  I  was  just  about 
giving  it  up  as  a  bad  case  of  embarrassment  of 
riches  when  I  felt  some  one  tap  me  on  the 
shoulder.  Now,  mind,  this  is  true  business. 
I  turned;  there  was  no  one  there,  but  right 
across  the  narrow  ally  into  which  I  had  wan- 
dered was  a  little  black  box  of  a  shop,  against 
the  dark  background  of  which  there  stood  out 
a  long  white  thing  with  two  bright  points  at 
the  top  of  it,  like  two  lightning  bugs  on  a 
flour  sack.  The  two  lightning  bugs  seemed 
to  grow  larger  and  larger,  and  I  walked  over 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  161 

to  see  what  in  thunder  the  whole  thing  was, 
when  it  resolved  itself  into  a  big  white  beard 
and  a  pair  of  Syrian  eyes,  both  the  property 
of  an  old  gentleman  in  a  black  robe — the  shop- 
keeper, in  fact.  I  don't  know  for  the  life  of 
me  why,  but  when  I  got  close  to  him  I  felt 
that  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  bow  and  say, 
'You  called  me,  sir;  what  is  your  pleasure?' 
So,  like  a  fool,  I  said  it.  Then  there  came  a 
hole  in  the  beard,  and  a  voice  said:  'My  lord 
wants  something  strange  and  small,  but 
good.": 

"How  did  you  know  what  he  said,  Roy?"  I 
asked. 

"Oh,  bless  you,  he  spoke  English  quite  as 
well  as  I  do,  and  almost  as  well  as  you. 
'Why,  yes,'  I  said;  'I  was  looking  for  some- 
thing of  that  sort — something  a  little  better 
than  a  white  metal  spoon  and  not  quite  as  ex- 
pensive as  a  gold  umbrella  jar.'  The  old  fel- 
low nodded  his  head,  and  said,  'For  a  lady.' 
He  didn't  ask  that,  you  understand;  he  made 
the  statement.  I  said  'Yes.'  Tor  a  lady 
whom  you  love  and  who  is  not  your  sister,' 
said  the  old  fellow." 

"Now,  Hoy,"  said  his  mother,  laughing, 
"you  are  treating  us  to  a  sample  of  your  yarn- 
spjnning." 

"It's  the  gospel  truth,  mother,  every  word 
of  it,"  said  Roy;  and  he  said  it  so  seriously 
that  his  mother  forbore  to  laugh  further, 
while  Tirisa  and  I  were  already  impressed  by 
his  story. 

"I  didn't  quite  like  the  assertiveness  of  the 


1G2  SEVEN  SMILES 

old  fellow,"  he  continued.  "In  fact,  I 
thought  it  the  rather  impudent  trick  of  a  sly 
salesman,  so  I  snorted  out  something  you 
wouldn't  care  about  hearing,  when  the  old 
fellow  stretched  out  his  hand  with  the  palm 
turned  straight  toward  me,  as  he  said:  'Let 
not  my  lord  be  angry,  for  my  age  is  great,  and 
age  has  its  experience  as  well  as  its  privileges. 
Here  is  what  you  seek.'  With  that  he  put 
his  hand  under  his  cloak  and  brought  out  this 
mirror.  As  you  see,  it  certainly  is  curious 
enough,  and  I  asked  him  the  price.  'Five 
thousand  francs,'  he  said.  'Good-day,'  said 
I.  'Five  hundred  francs,'  he  said.  'Good- 
day,'  I  said  again.  'Five  francs,'  he  said. 
'I'll  take  it  at  that,'  said  I.  'Nay,  my  son,' 
said  the  old  fellow,  'its  price  is  five  thousand 
francs,  and  I  cannot  sell  it  for  less.  But  I 
will  make  you  a  present  of  it,  provided  you 
give  me  five  francs  for  these  photographs  of 
Karnak,  where  it  was  found.'  So  I  paid  him 
the  five  francs  and  got  the  photographs  and 
mirror." 

"Well,  of  all  Cheap  John  tricks,"  ex- 
claimed Tirisa,  "that  is  the  shrewdest  I  ever 
heard  of!  Only  think  of  the  cunning  of  the 
Oriental  in  the  whole  transaction!" 

"Wait  a  bit,"  said  Koy.  "My  story  is  not 
quite  done.  I  nut  the  mirror  in  my  breast 
pocket  and  carried  the  photographs  in  my 
hand.  They  were  those  cheap  folding  things 
with  a  red  cloth  cover,  and  as  I  walked  along 
the  whole  inside  of  the  little  album  slipped 
out  and  fell  to  the  ground.  When  putting 


AND  A  FEW  FIDS.  163 

the  leaves  back  I  noticed  that  the  pictures 
were  not  views  of  Karnak  at  all,  but  some 
street  scenes  in  Paris.  That  made  me  mad, 
and  I  turned  back  to  have  it  out  with  the  old 
fellow,  even  if  he  had  been  Methuselah  him- 
self. Now,  mind  you,  I  had  not  walked 
ten  paces  away  from  the  old  fellow's  place 
when  I  made  the  discovery  of  the  cheat,  yet 
I  couldn't  find  it.  There  was  the  armor 
bazaar  where  I  had  been  hopelessly  gazing  at 
the  superabundance  of  things  when  I  felt  that 
queer  tap  on  the  back,  and  opposite  it  was  the 
alley  where  I  had  seen  the  white  beard  and 
the  lightning-bug  eyes,  but  there  wasn't  the 
faintest  sign  of  either,  or  of  the  old  fellow,  or 
of  the  shop  even.  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  ran  up 
the  alley,  and  found  myself  in  a  small  square 
with  a  Turkish  cafe  on  one  side  filled  with  our 
fellows  chaffing  a  lot  of  smudge-eyed  girls.  It 
was  the  quickest  case  of  'Now  you  see  it  and 
now  you  don't'  on  record,  I  reckon." 

"He  knew  you  would  come  back  as  soon  as 
you  found  out  the  cheat,"  I  said,  "and  so 
quietly  decamped." 

"Folded  his  tent  like  the  Arab,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  I  suppose,"  said  Eoy.  "I  don't 
know,  I'm  sure.  I  haven't  any  explanation 
to.  make.  It's  the  queerest  thing  that  ever 
happened  to  me,  and  I  can  assure  you  I  never 
opened  my  locker,  where  I  put  the  mirror, 
without  a  feeling  that  I'd  find  that  it  had  dis- 
appeared also.  However,  there  you  have  it, 
Jean,  story  and  all." 

"But  what  about  the  touch  on  the  shoulder, 


164  SEVEN  SMILES 

and  the — what  shall  I  call  it — the  mind-read- 
ing conversation?"  asked  Roy's  mother  with 
a  slightly  troubled  face. 

"I  can  only  repeat  what  I  said  just  now, 
mother,"  he  replied.  "I  have  no  explanation 
to  offer." 

Naturally  enough  we  all  examined  the  mir- 
ror pretty  closely  after  this.  It  was  of  brass, 
about  eight  inches  long  and  quite  heavy. 
The  handle  and  frame  were  of  one  piece,  the 
handle  a  plain  round  shaft— plain  except  for 
five  slight  indentations,  or  rather  grooves^  into 
which  the  fingers  and  thumb  naturally  slipped 
when  holding  it.  The  frame  was  circular, 
with  a  roughly  cut  arabesque  running  round 
it. 

In  the  face  of  the  mirror  lay  its  oddity,  for 
it  was  really  nine  mirrors — a  sun  and  eight 
satellites.  The  sun,  or  central  mirror,  was  a 
polished  disk  of  metal  and  occupied  the  larger 
part  of  the  frame,  while  the  eight  satellites 
were  grouped  at  equal  distances  around  it. 
But  the  satellites  were  of  a  slightly  complex 
form,  for  while  each  was  also  a  polished  metal 
disk,  over  it  was  fastened  a  triangle  of  some 
dull  black  material.  The  back  was  plain,  ex- 
cept that  here  again  were  the  five  shallow 
grooves  for  the  fingers  and  thumb. 

"Well,  what's  the  verdict?"  asked  Boy, 
when  we  three  women  had  examined  the  mir- 
ror separately  and  in  concert. 

"So  far  at  the  mirror  goes/'  said  Tirisa,  "I 
can  buy  a  better  one  in  Culpepper  for  twenty- 
five  cents." 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  165 

"From  what  Roy  has  told  us  of  the  way  in 
which  he  got  it,"  said  the  mother,  "I  should 
say  that  it  is  a  cheap  copy  of  an  antique." 

"And  I  think,  dear,"  I  said,  "that  it's  the 
quaintest,  oddest  looking-glass  that  ever  a 
girl  had." 

"Except  the  Karnak   belle   who  was    the 


original  owner,"  said  Roy,  with  his  hearty 
laugh.  "And  now  I'm  going  to  turn  in,  just 
to  see  how  my  old  bed  feels  after  three  years 


oing  to  turn  in,  just 
eels 
of  bunking  it  in  a  cupboard." 

Roy  stayed  with  us  three  days,  and  then  a 
dispatch  came,  and  he  said  he  had  to  go  away. 
He  tore  up  the  dispatch  as  soon  as  he  had 
read  it  and  threw  the  pieces  in  the  fire,  and 
stood  looking  into  the  big  open  grate  until 
the  last  piece  of  paper  was  a  film  of  ash.  His 
mother  and  I  were  in  the  room  at  the  time, 
and  we  both  asked  him  anxiously  if  there  was 
auything  the  matter. 

"No,"  he  said,  "except  that  I  have  to  go 
away  for  a  day  or  two." 

"To  the  ship?"  I  inquired. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "to  the  ship." 

After  he  had  gone  I  went  upstairs,  and 
feeling  uneasy  and  low-spirited  over  his  de- 
parture, I  set  to  the  essentially  feminine  task 
of  "looking  over  things."  In  the  course  of 
doing  so  I  settled  on  places  for  Roy's  presents. 
The  mirror  I  decided  to  keep  on  my  dressing 
table,  and  laying  it  there  with  the  face  down, 
I  rested  my  hand  on  it  with  the  fingers  and 
thumb  in  the  hollows  of  the  back  which  I 


166  SEVEN  SMILES 

have  spoken  of.  As  I  did  so,  and  was  thinking 
hard  and  not  too  happily  of  the  fashion  of 
Eoy's  going  away,  I  pressed  nervously  on  the 
mirror,  only  to  withdraw  my  hand  quickly 
the  next  instant,  and  with  a  cry,  as  I  felt  be- 
neath my  fingers  a  stir  and  a  tingle  as  though 
I  had  touched  an  electric  battery.  Then  I 
reproached  myself  for  foolish  nervousness  and 
replaced  my  hand  on  the  mirror. 

There  was  no  movement  either  of  or  within 
it. 

Then  I  pressed  heavily,  and  instantly  be- 
neath my  fingers  I  felt  once  more  the  buzzing 
stir. 

Something  was  moving  within  the  mirror. 

Roy's  story  of  the  mysterious  salesman  in 
Cairo  came  back  to  me  with  a  rush,  and  I  was 
about  to  call  Tirisa  to  come  quickly  to  look 
into  this  new  wonder,  when  a  feeling  of  utter 
and  abject  annihilation  of  will  overwhelmed 
me,  and  in  that  state  I  crept  miserably  to  bed. 

In  the  clear  morning  light  I  rated  myself 
for  giving  way  to  foolish  delusions  and  dream- 
ing out  a  fag-end  of  Roy's  fairy  tale.  My 
purpose  was,  however,  to  thrust  the  mirror 
out  of  sight,  but  as  soon  as  I  touched  it  an- 
other overwhelming  change  of  mood  crept 
over  me,  as  on  the  previous  night,  and  blotted 
out  my  will.  Breakfast,  usually  such  a  cheer- 
ful meal,  I  recollect  only  as  a  misty  function, 
but  when  that  was  over  the  distressing  annul- 
ment of  volition  left  me  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
come.  In  its  place  I  was  conscious  of  a 
steady,  bright  plan  of  action  whose  contempla- 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  167 

tion  gave  me  a  glow  of  pleasure;  and  follow- 
ing it,  and  the  secrecy  it  seemed  to  entail,  I 
ran  upstairs,  slipped  on  my  ulster,  put  the 
mirror  in  my  pocket  and  climbed  the  hill  to 
see  my  father's  old  teacher,  Professor  Glen- 
denning.  After  receiving  my  regular  scold- 
ing for  not  coming  to  see  him  oftener,  I 
brought  out  the  mirror,  told  him  how  it  had 
come  into  my  possession,  and  asked  him  what 
he  thought  of  it. 

"Well,  I  don't  exactly  know  what  to  say," 
he  replied,  after  looking  it  over  curiously  and 
carefully.  "It  surely  is  not  Chinese;  it  may 
be  Indian,  although  it  is  quite  likely  it  was 
made  in  Birmingham,  England.  No,  I'm 
wrong.  Here  we  are — it's  Persian." 

"And  how  do  you  know  that,  professor?"  I 
asked  eagerly. 

"Well,"  said,  the  professor,  "I  can  't  say 
for  sure  that  it  was  made  in  Persia,  but  here 
is  certainly  an  inscription  in  Persian."  And 
he  pointed  to  the  running  pattern  around  the 
frame  of  the  mirror,  which  we  had  untechnic- 
ally  called  an  arabesque. 

"What  does  it  say?"  I  asked. 

"Let  us  first  see  where  it  begins,"  he  said; 
"and  I  don't  know,  even  if  I  find  the  begin- 
ning, whether  I  can  translate  it.  I'm  pretty 
rusty  in  my  Orientals  at  present,  and  this  is 
Persian  of  an  early  epoch,  if  I  mistake  not. 
Ah!  here  we  are:  'The  eyes  of  me,' that  is, 
'my  eyes,  run  into  'or  'over  all  parts/  or  'cor- 
ners of  the  earth,  and  destruction,'  that  is, 
'my  annihilation'  or  'my  destruction,  lighteth 


168  S&rstf  SMILES 

after/  no,  'lighteth  on  the  traitor  or  false.* 
Now,  then,  let  me  try  again,  and  a  little  more 
metrically.  It  says: 

'  My  eyes  run  into  all  parts  of  the  earth, 
And  my  destruction  lighteth  on  the  false  one.' 

That's  pretty  close  to  it.  Quite  a  terrible 
text,  isn't  it?" 

"And  what  do  you  suppose  it  means?"  I 
asked  nervously. 

"Oh,"  replied  the  professor,  "these  texts 
are  characteristic  of  the  ancient  Persian 
methods.  They  invested  all  inanimate  ob- 
jects, and  especially  articles  of  their  own 
handicraft,  with  strange  attributes.  A  very 
remarkable  people,  my  dear;  and  you  have  a 
very  remarkable  object  there,  too.  Take  an 
old  man's  advice,  and  put  it  away  carefully." 

All  day  long  the  portentous  text  kept  ring- 
ing in  my  ears;  not  exactly  ringing  either,  for 
the  words  seemed  rather  to  be  shouted  into 
them. 

No  message  came  from  Roy  for  any  of  us 
that  day,  and  we  all  said  that  we  did  not  ex- 
pect any,  because  we  understood  that  he  had 
been  called  away  on  urgent  duty  and  had  no 
time  for  home  correspondence.  I  don't  know 
what  his  mother  and  sister  thought  in  their 
heart  of  hearts,  but  I  know  that  in  mine  there 
was  a  tremor  that  kept  me  from  looking  these 
dear  ones  in  the  face.  The  spirit  of  the  mir- 
ror had  hold  of  me.  I  saw  the  threatening 
text  like  the  handwriting  on  the  wall;  the 
slow,  heavy  tick  of  the  old  clock  on  the  stairs 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  169 

put  itself  to  the  words;  and  when  I  got  to  my 
room  and  locked  the  door  I  walked  straight  to 
my  dressing  table  and  placed  my  fingers  in 
the  imprints  on  the  mirror's  back. 

Almost  immediately  a  tingling  vibration 
sprang  up  beneath  them.  The  whir  and  shock 
increased  until  they  became  almost  insupport- 
able, and  then  with  a  sudden  dash  I  seized  the 
handle  and  brought  the  burnished  face 
straight  up  in  front  of  me. 

As  true  as  I  am  a  Christian  girl  this  is  what 
I  saw:  The  face  of  the  mirror,  as  I  have  tried 
to  describe,  was  composed  of  a  central  reflec- 
tor, or  sun,  while  around  it  were  eight  smaller 
reflectors,  or  satellites,  partially  covered  by 
black  triangles.  As  I  looked  I  saw  that  there 
was  a  strange  movement  going  on  among  these 
satellites.  The  black  triangles  were  slowly 
turning  from  left  to  right  on  concealed  pivots, 
while  the  polished  disks  beneath  seemed  to 
have  become  merged  into  a  continuous  glow- 
ing band  which  flashed  around  the  central 
mirror  like  a  rapidly  revolving  ribbon  of  light, 
turning  from  right  to  left.  As  it  circled 
around  it  seemed  to  throw  a  pulsating  nimbus 
on  the  central  mirror,  which  remained  station- 
ary, contracting  and  expanding,  and  turning 
in  and  out  on  itself  like  those  chromatrope 
slides  that  you  have  seen  in  a  magic  lantern. 

As  I  looked  at  the  miraculous  thing  I  found 
my  fingers  settling  rigidly  into  the  indenta- 
tions of  the  handle,  and  as  the  rigidity  grew 
the  whizzing  of  the  black  triangles  increased 
in  velocity;  the  circle  of  light  rushed  the  more 


170  SEVEN  SMILES 

rapidly  around  the  central  mirror,  and  the 
aureolesqne  light  seemed  to  bulge  and  con- 
tract with  more  and  more  pronounced  pulsa- 
tions, until  there  was  only  one  quiet  and 
unillumined  spot  in  the  center  of  the  mirror, 
about  the  size  of  a  silver  dollar.  The  marvel- 
ous movement  of  the  disks  and  the  vibratory 
glory  seemed  to  eat  their  way  into  my  brain 
and  to  bind  up  all  senses  except  that  of  sight. 
This  sense,  on  the  other  hand,  became  preter- 
naturally  acute,  and  as  my  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  quiet  central  spot  I  saw  forming  therein  a 
tiny  picture  which  had  all  the  distance  and 
soon  had  all  the  microscopic  clearness  of  a 
scene  looked  at  through  the  wrong  end  of  an 
opera  glass. 

Out  of  the  shadows  came  at  first  the 
white  napery  of  a  dinner  table,  then  the 
lavender  of  a  woman's  dress  at  one  side  of  the 
table,  and  then  the  darker  figure  of  a  man  at 
the  other  side.  Soon  i  saw  that  the  woman 
was  beautiful,  but  of  a  wicked  beauty,  and 
then — then  I  saw  that  the  man  was  Roy.  So 
marvelously  distinct  was  the  miniature  scene 
that  I  could  see  that  each  of  the  two  figures 
held  a  wineglass  raised,  and  that  when  the 
glasses  had  been  drained  the  two  figures  leaned 
across  the  table  until  their  wine-wet  lips  met 
together  in  a  kiss. 

An  agonizing  flame  of  amazement,  grief  and 
anger  blazed  up  within  me  at  the  sight,  and 
with  a  bitter  cry  I  brought  the  mirror  down 
with  all  my  might  on  the  marble  corner  of  the 
bureau. 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  171 

There  was  a  blinding  flash  as  it  flew  to 
pieces,  a  rattling  report,  and  I  fell  to  the  floor 
us  though  I  had  been  shot. 

And  at  that  wretched  hour  and  minute,  as 
you  have  heard,  the  door  of  the  room  where 
the  miserable  rendezvous  was  being  kept  was 
thrown  open  and  a  bullet  from  the  hand  of  an 
outraged  husband  and  brother  officer  was  sent 
through  Roy  Gaynor's  heart. 


HOW  I  HAD  'EM! 

A    BLUE-RIBBON    ROMANCE. 

"GUESS  you're  a  little  sick,  ain't  yeh?" 

"I  do-o-n'tfe-e-e-l  'xact'  ligh-h-h-t,"  I  quav- 
ered, trying  my  utmost  to  get  the  better  of  a 
severe  fit  of  trembling  that  had  suddenly  come 
upon  me. 

"Swallow  this,"  said  the  bartender,  "and 
then  go  home  and  lie  down  for  an  hour." 

I  tried  to  take  the  glass  up  firmly,  but, 
strive  as  I  might,  I  could  not  succeed,  even 
with  both  hands,  in  raising  the  liquor  steadily 
to  my  lips.  Teeth  and  glass-clicked  together 
like  castanets,  and  instead  of  replacing  the 
tumbler  on  the  counter,  it  slipped  from  my 
shaking  fingers,  and  was  shattered  on  the 
marble  floor. 

"Th-h-at's  bad-d,"  I  said. 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Ralph,"  said  the  bar- 
tender, "accidents  will  happen,  you  know. 
Shall  I  call  a  hack?" 

"N-o-o,"  I  protested.  "It's  o-o-nly  a  little 
touch  o-o-f-f  a-g-u-u-e,  I  think." 

When  I  got  on  Montgomery  Street  the  sun 
was  shining  warmly,  and  the  shivering  soon 

Eassed  off.     I  felt  a  trifle  uneasy  and  nervous, 
owever,  so  walked  down  toward  Sutter  Street, 
intending  to  take  the  cars  and  go  home  for  a 
quieting  nap. 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  173 

When  I  had  got  as  far  as  Sacramento  Street, 
happening  to  look  round,  I  was  surprised  to 
see  Harry  following.  Good  fellow  and  excel- 
lent bartender  as  Harry  is,  I  took  exception 
to  his  dogging  me  in  that  fashion;  especially 
as  he  wore  such  an  unpleasant  grin  that  it 
made  his  ears  stick  up  pointedly,  and  his 
mouth  stretch  up  his  face  until  the  corners 
met  those  of  his  eyes.  I  turned  frequently 
after  first  observing  him,  and  every  time  I 
turned,  there  he  was,  just  behind  me,  and 
grinning  pertinaciously.  It  was  such  an  un- 
pleasant grin  that  I  felt  it  boring  into  the 
middle  of  my  back.  So,  to  distract  his  at- 
tention, I  took  off  my  cravat  and  hung  it  in 
the  iron  ring  of  a  hitching  post,  tying  it  in  a 
firm  knot. 

He  must  have  taken  some  time  unfastening 
this,  for  I  had  reached  Sutter  Street  and  got 
on  the  cars  before  he  reappeared.  My  great- 
est fear  was  lest  he  should  get  on  the  dummy 
with  me,  and  I  am  afraid  I  made  too  open  an 
exhibition  of  such  a  sentiment,  for  a  gentle- 
man sitting  next  me  remarked  to  his  compan- 
ion that  he  thought  I  was  going  to  have  a  fit. 

"No,  sir,"  I  said,  turning  to  him,  "I'm  not 
going  to  have  a  fit;  but  I  dread  the  appear- 
anc.e  of  a  person  who  has  grossly  insulted  me, 
and  with  whom  I  do  not  wish  to  quarrel.  He 
has  very  much  excited  me." 

Here  the  car  moved  up  the  hill,  and  I  be- 
gan to  congratulate  myself  upon  having  got 
rid  of  Harry,  when  whom  should  I  see  but 
that  fellow  quickly  turning  the  corner,  and 


174  SEVEN  SMILES 

with  a  more  impudent  grin  on  his  face  than 
ever.  He  saw  me,  and  hurried  up  the  street 
at  a  run.  Quick  as  light  J  dragged  off  my 
collar,  and  standing  up  in  the  dummy,  ilung 
it  on  to  the  sidewalk.  He  stooped  to  pick  it 
up,  and  then  trotted  on  again.  ]n  despera- 
tion, I  Hung  off  my  hat  at  the  persistent  dog, 
and  don't  know  what  else  would  have  followed 
if  the  car  had  not  then  stopped,  and  I  was 
able  to  get  quickly  off  and  into  the  house 
without  the  fellow  reaching  me. 

However,  I  took  the  precaution  to  lock  and 
bolt  the  front  door,  and  was  setting  a  hall- 
chair  against  it  as  an  extra  barrier,  when  Tot 
— my  sister — coming  quietly  down  the  stairs, 
asked  what  the  matter  was. 

I  told  her  of  the  watch  that  had  been  kept 
on  me,  and  at  the  same  time  tried  to  explain 
the  peculiar,  indefinable  sense  of  horror  that 
Harry's  conduct  had  excited  within  me. 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  I  concluded,  "for 
I  had  always  imagined  him  to  be  a  quiet,  non- 
interfering  fellow." 

"Well,  Ben,"  said  my  sister,  taking  hold  of 
my  hand,  ''you're  free  from  intrusion  now,  at 
any  rate.  You're  a  bit  feverish;  suppose  you 
go  and  rest  awhile.  Tom  will  soon  be  home 
and  then  you  can  talk  it  over." 

I  went  upstairs  and  threw  myself  on  the 
bed,  but  failed  to  fall  asleep.  To  the  con- 
trary, indeed,  I  was  miserably  wakeful,  and 
lay  there  with  every  sense  acutely  strained. 
That  of  sight  must  have  been  particularly  so, 
lor  I  soon  noticed  what  a  three  years'  occu- 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  175 

pancy  of  the  room,  and  a  somewhat  longer 
familiarity  with  its  contents,  had  failed  to 
show  me. 

On  the  mantelpiece  at  th.3  foot  of  the  bed, 
and  exactly  facing  me  as  I  lay,  were  two  col- 
ored wax  images  of  Mary  and  Joseph,  stand- 
ing under  glass  shades.  As  I  looked  at  them, 
to  my  intense  surprise  I  saw  Mary  begin  slowly 
moving  her  arms  up  and  down,  as  though 
dandling  the  infant  Saviour  that  lay  therein. 
Joseph  stretched  out  his  arms,  and  then  both 
figures  gravely  and  slowly  walked  out  through 
the  glass  shades  and  met  in  the  center  of  the 
mantelpiece.  There  they  stood  for  some 
time,  Mary  yet  dandling  the  babe,  and  Joseph 
looking  fondly  on  both  mother  and  child. 
The  beautiful  mechanism  of  these  automata 
called  forth  my  extremest  admiration, 
although  I  could  not  get  over  a  certain  sense 
of  fear,  if  not  of  horror. 

From  the  motion  of  their  lips,  conversation 
was  evidently  going  on;  so  I  raised  myself 
into  a  sitting  posture  to  listen.  Strangely 
enough,  the  images  moved  back  under  their 
respective  shades  as  I  moved  forward,  and 
when  I  sprang  on  to  the  floor  and  ran  to  the 
mantelpiece,  they  were  as  waxy  and  as  expres- 
sionless as  they  had  been  until  that  day. 

I  threw  myself  down  again,  in  a  state  of 
mingled  surprise  and  fear,  and  had  been  quiet 
but  a  minute  when  the  machinery  once  more 
seemed  to  be  set  in  motion;  the  figures  again 
moved  to  the  center  of  the  mantelpiece,  and 


176  SEVEN  SMILES 

the  marvel  of  the  automata  was  gone  over 
again. 

While  watching  the  delicate  movements  of 
the  statues,  the  bell  rang  for  dinner;  and  get- 
ting up,  I  washed  and  went  downstairs. 

"How  do  you  feel  now,  Ben?"  Tot  had 
asked  me  as  I  entered  the  room. 

"Oh,  I  feel  all  right,"  I  had  said;  "only 
something  very  queer  happened  to  me  just 
now.  Why  hadn't  you  told  rne  those  waxen 
images  on  my  mantelpiece  moved?" 

Tot's  face  flushed  up  suddenly,  and  then 
turned  very  white. 

"Well— I— I  didn't  think  of  it,"  she  said. 

Here  Tom  came  charging  up  the  front 
steps.  Tot  went  out  of  the  room  to  let  him 
in,  and  stood  talking  in  the  hall  for  a  minute. 
Then  they  came  in  together. 

"Hillo,  Ben,"  said  Tom,  in  his  cheery 
voice;  "back  from  work?" 

"Yes,"  said  Tot;  "Ben  hasn't  been  feeling 
quite  well  this  afternoon,  so  he  came  home  to 
lie  down  for  an  hour.  And  would  you  believe 
it,  Tom,  he  has  found  out  that  those  wax 
figures  on  his  bedroom  mantelpiece  move 
about  and  converse?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Tom  to  me;  "I  thought 
you  knew  that  before." 

After  dinner,  instead  of  going  out,  I  got 
Tot  to  give  me  a  little  whisky,  and  soon  went 
to  bed.  I  was  still  too  shaky  to  go  to  sleep, 
but  closed  my  eyes  and  tried  my  best  to  drop 
off.  Opening  them  after  one  of  these  useless 
wooings,  what  was  my  horror  to  find  that  I 


had  a  bedfellow.     And    such   a    loathsome, 
awful  bedfellow! 

I  lay  a  minute,  unable  to  move,  looking 
into  its  great  green  goggle  eyes,  which  winked 
and  blinked  with  a  devilish  humor  I  had  never 
seen  equaled.  It  was  lying  outside  the  bed- 
clothes, its  two  hideously  distorted  legs  mov- 
ing restlessly  with  a  whip-like  motion.  Its 
body  was  fat  and  bloated,  and  its  podgy  arms 
ended  in  two  claws.  Its  ears  were  imp- 
ishly pointed,  and  instead  of  a  nose  there 
was  only  an  irregular  hole,  while  its  bloodless, 
mottled  under  lip  fell  far  down  on  a  peaked, 
pinched  chest.  My  dread  of  the  fearful  being 
was  extreme,  yet  1  was  doubtful  of  its  reality 
• — of  its  vitality,  rather — and  imagined  it  some 
horrible  grotesque  manufacture  of  painted 
rubber,  placed  there  in  joke  by  Tom,  and 
which  moved  with  the  breeze  from  the  win- 
dow. If  so,  what  a  miserable  joke!  Still,  I 
favored  this  idea  in  preference  to  a  belief  in 
the  living  existence  of  the  beast;  so,  with  a 
great  effort,  and  trembling  in  every  limb,  I 
stole  a  hand  gently  toward  the  knotted  leg 
that  was  nearest.  My  hand  touched  it! 
Clammy  as  a  death-sweat!  It  was  sentient, 
though,  and  flung  down  a  claw  to  grip  my 
haiid.  With  a  scream  I  bounded  from  the 
bed  and  sprang  from  the  room.  Tot  and  Tom 
heard  me  come  flying  down  the  stairs,  and  ran 
to  ask  the  matter.  My  blanched  face  and 
mumbling  lips  told  the  story  with  great  plain- 
ness, I  guess;  and  it  is  well  they  did,  for  I 


178  SEVEN  SMILES 

could  utter  no  word,  but  sank  down  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  pointing  behind  me. 

"What  is  it?  What  have  you  seen,  Ben?" 
asked  Tot. 

"Upstairs — on  my  bed— kill  it!"  I   gasped. 

Tom  seized  a  big  stick  from  the  corner,  and 
went  quickly  up  into  my  room,  whence  I 
heard  the  sound  of  heavy  blows. 

"There,"  said  he,  coming  down,  "I  guess 
that's  finished  him." 

"Now,  Ben,"  said  Tot,  "I  wouldn't  go  up 
there  again  for  a  little  while.  I'll  lay  a  pillow 
and  clothes  on  the  lounge,  and  you  can  lie 
there  for  the  night." 

"Anything,  to  get  away  from  that  thing!" 
I  said. 

They  went  to  bed  shortly  after,  and  I  set- 
tled myself  back  for  rest  and  forgetfulness. 
Both  I  imagined  near  me,  when  both  were 
driven  away  by  a  visitor.  The  first  signal  of 
his  approach  was  the  jerking  of  the  carpet  by 
the  side  of  the  lounge,  and  the  gradual  rising 
of  a  spuare  patch.  I  leaned  over,  and  judge 
of  my  astonishment  when  I  saw  that  the  carpet 
covered  a  trapdoor,  which,  now  open,  revealed 
a  broad  staircase  leading  down,  down,  further 
than  my  sight  could  follow.  The  steps  were 
of  some  black  material,  wood  or  stone,  I  could 
hardly  make  out  which.  The  various  flights 
were  brightly  illumined  by  some  unperceived 
means.  I  accepted  the  existence  of  this  sub- 
terranean labyrinth  with  astonishing  com- 
posure, although  that  all-pervading  sense  of 
dull  horror  which  had  been  with  me  for  the 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  179 

last  few  hours  was  on  the  tiptoe  of  a  scream- 
ing pitch.  I  kept  back  the  impulse,  however, 
and  was  leaning  over,  peering  down  the  stair- 
case, when  I  heard  some  one  coming  up  them. 
In  the  far  perspective  I  saw  the  figure  of  a 
man  mounting,  and  as  he  came  nearer  I  saw 
him  to  be  a  gentleman  in  a  full  suit  of  even- 
ing black. 

"Some  friend  of  Tom's,'"'  I  surmised,  "who 
knows  of  and  uses  this  private  entrance.  I 
wish  they  hadn't  gone  to  bed."  Here  the 
gentleman  came  up  the  last  steps,  and  stood 
wiping  his  face. 

"Phew!"  he  said  at  last;  "warm  evening." 

"  'Tis,  rather,"  1  said. 

"Not  so  warm  here,  though,  as  it  is  down 
there,"  said  he,  smiling. 

He  was  a  good-looking  man,  neat  in  figure 
and  apparel,  pleasant  in  voice  and  address.  A 
striking  peculiarity  of  the  gentleman  was  that 
his  face  varied  and  changed  so  remarkably  as 
to  make  it  impossible  to  guess  his  age  or  fix 
his  features  on  the  memory.  At  one  moment 
I  could  have  sworn  he  seemed  as  old  as  Adam, 
and  the  very  next  his  face  was  as  young  and 
fresh  as  Tot's.  At  this  breath  he  was  wicked 
and  black;  at  the  next  he  was  as  fair  as  a 
schoolgirl. 

"I'm  sorry  Tom  has  gone  to  bed,"  I  re- 
marked at  length. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  the  stranger; 
"fact  of  the  matter  is,  I  came  to  see  you, 
Ben." 

"You  know  me?" 


1 80  SB  VEX  SMILES 

"Oh,  well,  I  have  heard  you  frequently 
spoken  of." 

"I  had  no  idea  that  trapdoor  was  there,"  I 
said,  after  a  pause,  during  which  the  stranger 
took  off  his  hat  and  sat  down  beside  me  on 
the  lounge. 

"Why,  Ben,  man,"  said  he,  smiling  cheer- 
fully, "there's  some  such  entrance  as  this" — 
here  he  closed  the  trapdoor  with  his  foot — 
"in  every  house  in  town;  ay,  not  even  ex- 
cepting the  churches.  I  think  I  may  confi- 
dently say  that  I  am  on  easy  visiting  terms 
with  every  family  in  San  Francisco." 

Not  to  know  Wilkes  was  not  to  be  known, 
so  I  suggested  that  I  remembered  having  seen 
my  visitor's  face  somewhere  before. 

"Well,  I  fancy  so,"  said  he,  laughing  gayly. 
"You  know  me  well  enough  now,  though 
mind  you,  Ben,  I  don't  mean  to  say  you  won't 
know  me  better." 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  your  name?" 
I  asked.  "I  don't  exactly  recall  it." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  he,  taking  a  card 
from  a  crimson  leather  case.  "Let  me  pre- 
mise, however,"  said  he,  toying  with  the  card, 
"that  I  am  an  individual  whom  many  will 
warn  you  against,  and  that  while  I  do  not  lack 
admirers  and  followers,  I,  at  the  same  time, 
have  to  complain  of  an  infinity  of  backbiters 
and  slanderers — beggars,  my  dear  Ben,  who 
revile  me  in  the  open  street  and  embrace  me 
in  the  corner.  Permit  me." 

I  took  the  slim  slip  of  pasteboard,  glanced 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  181 

at  the  name,  and  read  in  the  most  delicate  of 
script: 


THE   DEVIL. 


"The  devil!"  I  said. 

"You  use  the  name  as  though  it  were  no 
stranger,  Ben.  It  came  'trippingly  from  the 
tongue.'  ' 

"Only  as  an  exclamation,  I  assure  you,"  I 
hastened  to  say. 

"Pshaw!  Don't  explain  or  apologize,  my 
dear  fellow." 

"And  the  place  you  come  up  from  is " 

"Exactly,"  said  he,  "is  hell." 

"But  I  thought  there  was  no  such  place,"  I 
persisted. 

"Converted  to  the  new  and  easy  doctrine  of 
non-existence,  eh?  The  comfortable  preach- 
ing of  that  lawyer-colonel  has  made  me  his 
warmest  friend,  Ben;  how  warm,  he'll  find  out 
some  day.  But,  instead  of  our  wasting  time, 
discussing  theories,  suppose  we  put  the 
matter  instantly  to  the  test.  Come  down 
with  me  for  a  short  time."  Here  he  threw 
open  the  trapdoor. 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  said;  "time  enough  for 
that.  I'm  in  no  hurry." 

"Oh,  you  shall  come  up  again,"  said  he. 
"Still  I  won't  press  you.  I'll  show  you  a 
trick  or  two  at  cards  and  then  I  must  he 
leaving." 

With  that  he  took  a  pack  from  his  pocket, 


182  SEVEN  SMILES 

and  handling  the  pasteboards  with  the  dexter- 
ity of  an  expert,  he  "did"  some  of  the  most 
remarkable  things  with  cards  I  ever  saw  or 
expect  to  see  again. 

"There,"  said  he  at  last,  "you  won't  swear 
by  Heller,  or  Houdin,  or  Cazeneuve  after  that, 
I  hope.  Take  the  master  as  an  example,  Ben, 
and  not  the  pupil.  Now  I  must  be  off,  but 
I'll  leave  you  a  companion  that  you  may  not 
too  quickly  forget  me." 

He  nodded  pleasantly,  put  his  hat  on,  and 
went  down  the  staircase  a  few  steps,  then  re- 
turning stood  half  out  of  the  trapdoor,  and 
saying:  "Be  sure  you  keep  it  straight,"  flung 
a  skeleton  lightly  on  to  the  bed,  went  down 
and  closed  the  door  after  him. 

As  soon  as  the  devil  had  gone  the  control 
which  I  had  managed  to  keep  over  myself 
completely  died  out,  and  I  was  seized  with  a 
violent  access  of  shivering.  So  violent  was  it 
that  the  bed  shook,  and  with  it  my  bony  bed- 
fellow. The  articulated  joints  rattled  lustily 
together.  Its  grisly  knees  were  drawn  up  to 
its  fleshless  jaws,  and  its  gaunt  arms  flapped 
about  like  the  sails  of  an  old,  gust-blown 
windmill.  I  immediately  remembered  what  I 
had  been  told  about  keeping  it  straight.  With 
a  sickening  feeling  of  repulsion,  I  placed  my 
hands  on  its  knees,  and  tried  to  press  them 
straight.  They  were  fixed  and  immovable.  I 
threw  the  blanket  over  them  and  rested  my 
weight  on  them,  pressing  and  striving  to 
straighten  them  out.  They  would  give  a 
little,  but  directly  I  relaxed  in  the  faintest, 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  183 

back  flew  all  the  limbs  with  the  sharp  click  of  a 
steel  trap.  Trial  after  trial  resulted  in  the 
same  unpleasant  failure,  and  with  a  groan  I 
lay  back  for  a  moment  breathless  and  despair- 
ing. A  rattling  movement  of  the  dry  bones 
aroused  me,  and  leaning  on  my  elbow  I  saw 
by  the  dimly  burning  gaslight  that  my  bed- 
fellow was  chuckling  and  rubbing  its  dead 
hands  together  in  a  deadly-lively  joy  at  my 
defeat. 

With  a  great  cry  I  flung  myself  upon  the 
grinning  death's  head.  The  arms  rose  to 
push  me  back,  but  I  struck  out  wildly,  when 
they  grappled  me  around  the  waist.  I  beat 
my  lists  against  the  grinning  jaws,  and  strove 
to  burst  clear  of  the  grip,  but  I  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  free  myself  from  the  embrace 
of  "The  Scavenger's  Daughter." 

Out  over  the  lounge  we  went,  up  and  down, 
tumbling  over  the  furniture;  I  panting,  curs- 
ing, yelling;  it  silent,  but  persistent.  The 
horrible  Thug  was  pressing  my  life  out.  I 
felt  choking,  my  breath  came  hot  and  fast, 
I  gave  one  ringing  yell  and  fell  to  the  floor, 
still  locked  in  the  fleshless  arms,  when  there 
was  a  hurry  of  feet  down  the  staircase,  the 
door  was  flung  open  and  Tom  ran  in. 

J'For  the  Lord's  sake,"  said  he,  "what's  the 
matter?  What  are  you  lying  there  for?" 

"Take  it  from  me,"  I  cried  in  answer, 
struggling  to  be  free.  "Take  it  from  me." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Tom. 

"Why,  this  skeleton.  Turn  up  the  gas  and 
you'll  see." 


184  SEVEN  SMILES 

Tom  let  a  full  blaze  on.  "Ah,  now  I  see," 
said  he;  "come  oil  you  rascal."  With  that 
he  seized  my  enemy  by  the  heels,  dragged  it 
away,  and  opening  the  window  threw  it  into 
the  street. 

"There,"  he  added,  "he's  settled  for.  Now 
lie  down  again;  or  will  you  get  up  and  dress, 
for  it's  nearly  morning?" 

"Thank  the  powers  that's  over,"  I  answered. 
"Tom,  that  thing  nearly  killed  me.  See,  I'm 
shaking  like  an  aspen.  I  guess  I'll  lie  down 
for  an  hour  or  two  and  rest  a  bit." 

"All  right,"  said  Tom,  "keep  quite  quiet 
now,  and  I'll  run  up  and  put  on  my  things 
and  be  down  here  again  with  you  in  a  jiffy." 

No  sooner  had  he  left  the  room  than  some 
one  opened  the  door.  I  could  not  see  whom 
exactly,  because  of  a  long  plank  of  lumber 
which  hid  the  bearer.  The  plank  was  set  up 
against  the  ceiling  at  an  acute  angle,  with  the 
bottom  just  beside  me.  Directly  it  was  set, 
out  of  the  ceiling,  and  near  it  came  a  drop  of 
blood,  which  swelled  and  grew  until  it  became 
of  the  size  and  shape  of  a  long  grape.  This 
strange  growth  wavered  a  little  and  then 
broke  off  at  the  neck,  slid  rapidly  down  the 
plank,  and  striking  the  floor  burst  open  and 
discovered  a  gnome,  yellow  in  body,  hideous 
in  face,  and  bearing  a  small,  curved  knife  in 
its  hand.  There  was  a  repetition  of  the  slid- 
ing noise,  another  bag  struck  the  floor,  and  a 
second  gnome  joined  the  first.  I  turned  my 
eyes  then  to  the  ceiling.  It  was  hung  thick 
with  ghastly  drops  of  blood  dew!  The  ugly 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  185 

red  drops  swelled  with  more  than  mushroom 
growth.  They  trembled  as  their  bulbous  full- 
ness increased,  and  I  cowered  in  dismay  and 
fear  from  the  fall  of  some  ripe-looking  ones 
that  hung  directly  over  my  head.  When  full 
blown,  however,  they  shot  across  the  ceiling 
until  they  struck  the  plank,  down  which  there 
was  a  continual  sliding  carried  on,  and  at  the 
foot  of  which  a  knife-armed  gnome  was  at 
every  instant  being  born.  Notwithstanding 
this  undeviating  direction  of  the  dreadful 
globules,  I  could  not  help  ducking  under  the 
clothes,  moaning  and  shivering  whenever  one 
of  the  pregnant  fungi  hung  swollen  and  ugly 
over  my  head. 

The  room  was  soon  crowded  with  this  elfin 
brood.  They  ran  over  me,  pinched  me,  pricked 
me  with  their  knives,  pulled  my  hair,  perched 
everywhere,  plucked  away  the  clothes,  and 
were  as  full  of  mischievous  antics  as  a  herd  of 
monkeys.  I  struggled  against  my  tormentors 
with  the  ineffectual  struggles  of  a  Gulliver 
against  the  Lilliputians.  I  chased  the  little 
yellow  demons  into  corners  without  avail;  they 
eluded  me,  and  turned  on  me  to  sting  and  jab 
me  like  so  many  bees.  I  was  in  the  middle  of 
one  of  these  chases  when  Tom  came  in,  ac- 
companied by  Dr.  X.  They  stood  looking  at 
me  a  moment. 

"How  long  has  he  been  like  this?"  said  the 
doctor. 

"How  long?"  I  repeated.  "Why,  only  since 
these  little  devils  have  been  pestering  iny  life 
out," 


186  SEVEN  SMILES 

"Come  over  here  and  lie  down,"  said  Tom. 
"The  doctor  and  I  will  keep  you  safe." 

I  got  up  and  tried  to  walk  there,  but  the 
imps  clung  about  my  feet,  piled  themselves 
up  in  my  path,  impeding  every  step. 

"I  can't  get  there,"  I  groaned,  "unless  you 
drive  these  away." 

At  that  the  doctor  and  Tom  kicked  the 
gnomes  vigorously  aside  and,  lifting  me  up, 
carried  me  over  and  laid  me  on  the  couch. 
There  the  doctor  raised  one  of  my  eyelids, 
dropped  it,  shook  his  head  gravely,  and 
said: 

"This  is  very  serious." 

"Very  serious!"  I  echoed  again.  "I  should 
think  it  was.  These  fiends  will  kill  me  yet." 

"Don't  be  afraid,  old  fellow,"  said  Tom. 
"Nothing  shall  harm  you  while  we're  here." 

As  if  in  mockery  'of  this  cheering  speech 
the  little  demons  at  this  moment  covered  the 
couch  and  me  like  a  cloud.  I  shouted  and 
prayed  to  have  them  kept  off,  but  all  to  no 
purpose.  Beginning  at  my  feet  and  plying 
their  scalpels  with  demoniac  cruelty,  they  be- 
gan to  flay  me. 

The  agony  was  frightful.  Every  imp  went 
to  work  on  a  piece  of  skin  about  an  inch 
square,  and  every  thrust  of  their  knives  was 
like  the  touch  of  a  hot  iron.  I  roared  and 
screamed,  fighting  in  wild  desperation  with 
the  operators.  Then,  to  complete  my  misery, 
what  should  Tom  and  Dr.  X.  do  but  fling 
themselves  on  me,  one  at  each  side,  and  try 
to  hold  me  down.  Lord,  how  1  fought 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  187 

with  them!  I  seemed  to  have  the  strength 
of  a  giant. 

"Do  you  not  see  they  are  flaying  me?"  I 
shouted,  but  they  only  held  on  the  tighter. 

The  murderous  torture  and  ineffectual 
struggle  went  on.  Every  bit  of  skin  was  torn 
otf  from  the  toe-tips  to  the  knees,  and  the 
pain  was  as  though  I  was  being  dipped  in 
molten  lead.  Tom  and  the  doctor  could  not 
feel  this,  nor  did  the  asses  seem  to  make  any 
endeavor  to  drive  away  my  torturers.  The 
cruel  agony  was  becoming  unbearable,  and  I 
felt  that  if  it  continued  much  longer  I  should 
surely  give  way,  when  the  flaying  ceased,  and 
the  flayers  flocked  around  a  larger  and  more 
hideous  gnome  than  the  others.  The  chatter- 
ing, mowing  herd  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  crowding  one  another  in  their  eagerness 
to  get  near  the  center.  The  bloody  lancets 
were  stuck  in  my  torn  limbs,  but  I  forgot 
them  and  their  consequent  pain  when  I  saw 
the  impish  crowd  open  and  their  leader — I 
suppose  he  was — advance  toward  the  couch, 
trailing  behind  him  a  glittering  knife  tied  to 
a  string. 

The  knife  had  a  heavy  double-edged  blade, 
and  seemed  as  keen  as  a  razor.  The  string  to 
which  it  was  fastened  was  a  thin  silk  thread. 
A  terrible  fear  came  upon  me.  I  was  to  be 
executed.  The  restraining  'power  of  my  two 
friends  was  like  the  touch  of  baby  fingers.  I 
rose  as  though  nothing  held  me  down  and  sat 
on  the  side  of  the  couch,  waiting,  watching. 
The  chief  imp  waved  aside  the  others,  planted 


188  SEVEN  SMILES 

his  legs  apart,  wound  the  end  of  the  thread 
about  his  hand,  and  began  to  swing  it. 

"Now,"  said  the  swinger,  "if  the  thread 
breaks,  or  slips,  and  the  knife  strikes  him,  he 
will  die." 

I  accepted  the  decree  as  one  accepts  the 
inevitable,  and  resting  my  elbow  on  my 
wounded  knees  and  my  head  on  my  hands, 
prepared  to  await  the  end.  The  knife  circled 
round  and  round,  whistling  through  the  air 
and  making  rings  of  fire.  The  knife  flew 
faster,  the  fire  circles  broadened,  deepened, 
and  took  prismatic  tints.  A  hopelessly  un- 
controllable trembling  seized  me,  and  my  eyes 
seemed  starting  from  their  very  sockets. 
Hours  seemed  to  pass,  and  still  the  knife  flew 
shrieking  through  the  air.  So  great  had  its 
force  become  that  had  the  string  broken  the 
knife  would  have  flown  out  as  though  swung 
off  a  lost  planet.  The  fiery  circles  were  living 
flames,  the  path  of  the  knife  was  one  Jong 
shriek.  I  moaned  and  shook,  and  the  imps, 
squatting  around,  laughed  in  horrid  concert, 
when  something  snapped,  and  the  flaming 
circle  was  broken. 

Involuntarily  1  bowed  my  head.  Just  over 
it  whizzed  the  knife  and  was  transfixed  in  the 
wall.  The  tension  of  mind  had  been  too  great, 
too,  and  with  a  sigh  of  unutterable  relief  I 
fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 

When  I  came  out  of  what  I  found  to  have 
been  a  deep  sleep,  the  morning's  sun  was 
shining  through  the  windows,  Tot  sat  in  an 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  189 

easy-chair  beside  me,  and  I  was  still  lying  on 
the  couch.  I  stirred  and  Tot  rose  up. 

"How  are  you  now,  Ben?'' 

"All  right,"  I  said.  All  at  once  I  remem- 
bered what  had  happened.  I  looked  up  for 
the  knife.  It  had  been  taken  away.  Then  I 
thought  of  my  flayed  limbs. 

"You  have  bound  up  my  legs,  I  suppose, 
Tot?"  I  said.  "They  seem  very  easy." 

"My  poor  boy,"  said  she,  "there  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  your  legs.  It's  all  imagina- 
tion." 

"Imagination!"  I  said.  "I'll  show  you  if 
it's  imagination  or  not." 

With  that  I  tenderly  turned  down  the 
clothes.  Not  a  scratch  was  to  be  seen.  I  was 
thunderstruck.  "What  does  this  mean?"  I 
cried.  "The  moving  figures,  the  tortures, 
the  shapes,  the " 

"They  all  mean,  Ben,"  said  she,  laying  her 
cool  hand  on  rny  head,  that  you've  had " 

"God  forgive  me,"  said  I.  "I  know  now. 
It  means  that  I've  had  'em!" 

When  I  told  the  doctor  of  the  swinging 
knife,  he  replied  that  there  was  every  proba- 
bility that  had  the  imaginary  blade  struck  me 
it  would  have  been  my  actual  quietus. 


TO  FREEZE  OUT  ENGLAND. 

THE  LATEST  PLAN  OP  FENIAN  RETRIBUTION. 

"SiiURE  now  a  mon  cud  see  weth  half  an 
oye,  that  ye  was  wan  av  us,"  said  the  walk- 
ing delegate. 

He  was  leaning  against  the  counter  of  a 
saloon  on  Eighth  Avenue,  into  which  the  New 
Reporter  had  ventured  in  search  of  material 
for  his  article  on  "The  Basting  Threads  of 
New  York  Life." 

Beaming  pleasantly  through  his  glasses- 
he  did  not  really  need  them,  and  they  made 
his  eyes  ache,  but  he  had  noticed  that  "all  the 
other  fellows"  wore  them — the  New  Reporter 
had  invited  the  walking  delegate,  with  much 
gentleness,  to  refresh  himself,  and  in  the 
growing  confidence  of  the  conversation  that 
followed  the  New  Reporter  had  asked  his 
companion  if  he  believed  there  were  any 
Fenians  in  New  York.  At  the  question  the 
walking  delegate  pulled  his  hat  still  further 
over  his  eyes  and  thrust  away  his  empty  glass 
with  a  swift  motion  of  the  hand. 

"is  et  betrayed  oi  am?"  he  cried,  "are  ye 
wanofthim  Hessian  bludhounds  from  Scot- 
land Yard?  Be  dis  and  be  dat  I'm  afther 
t'inkin'  that  yer  Joey  Caron  himself." 

"Indeed,  indeed,  you're  mistaken,"  the 
N.ew  Reporter  hastened  to  say,  "you're  en- 


AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  191 

tirely  mistaken,  I  assure  you.  I  am  attached 
to  the  city  department  of  the  Daily  Blazer.  I 
don't  have  regular  assignments  yet,  you  know, 
but  I'm  getting  material  together  for  a  great 
realistic  article  on  'The  Basting  Threads  of 
New  York  Life,'  one  of  those  seamy-side 
things  you  know,  like  Ralph  and  Matthews 
and  Sala  and  other  fellows  have  written  for 
the  magazines." 

The  walking  delegate  tilted  his  hat  forward 
to  a  less  ferocious  angle,  brought  back  his 
glass  with  an  amicable  sweep  of  the  hand  and 
smiled  reassuringly. 

And  then  it  was  that  he  had  added,  "Shure, 
now,  a  mon  cud  see  with  half  an  oye  that  ye 
wos  wan  av  us,"  and  had  winked  mysteriously 
at  the  bartender. 

"Well,"  said  the  New  Reporter,  "I  can't 
honestly  say  that  I  really  am  a  Fenian,  you 
know;  but  you  are  of  course." 

"Wheshper,  wheshper,"  said  the  walking 
delegate,  laying  one  hand  with  a  warning  pres- 
sure on  the  New  Reporter's  arm  and  speaking 
in  the  cavernous  shelter  of  the  other,  "wan  of 
the  out  and  out  inner  circles,  me  brave  bhoy, 
Shure  it's  not  Tynan  thet's  No.  1 — it's  meself. 
Did  ye  niver  hear  of  Captain  Francis  O'Mal- 
ley  Stevens?  Aisy  now,  an'  I'll  giv  ye  the 
sign " 

Saying  which  the  walking  delegate  wiped 
his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  stared 
fixedly  into  his  empty  glass,  and  then  took  it 
up  and  looked  at  the  New  Reporter  through 
it,  as  though  it  had  been  a  telescope. 


192  SEVEN  SMILES 

Even  the  New  Keporter  saw  the  proper 
thing  to  do  under  these  circumstances,  and 
when  the  second  "straight"  and  lemonade 
had  been  served  he  asked  if  there  was  any- 
thing stirring  in  Fenian  circles. 

"Shtirring,  es  it?"  repeated  the  walking 
delegate,  "ther's  always  something  shtirring. 
But,  mon  aloive,  ther's  the  gratest  ting  a 
shtirring  now  that  has  bin  since  the  days  whin 
Black  Teddy  blew  up  Athlone  magazine  wid 
a  string  of  safethy  fuse  rolled  round  the  insoide 
of  his  concertayna.  But  coom  ye  awver  to 
that  little  bit  of  a  room  beyant  there,  an'  I'll 
tell  ye  all  about  it." 

"Ye  must  know,"  the  walking  delegate  be- 
gan, when  they  were  seated  in  the  private 
room,  "that  since  thim  Rooshins  and  other 
haythin  have  taken  to  using  dinnymoite  the 
Brotherhood  have  drapped  it,  and  looked 
around  for  sorneting  else.  We've  bin 
moighty  quiet  while  looking,  and  the  English 
bludhounds  and  detectives  have  tought  that 
we  had  given  up  the  foight.  Be  gob,  we  wos 
niver  more  in  et  than  we  are  now.  We've 
found  out  a  schame  for  cookin'  England's 
goose  that  bates  dinnymoite  to  smithereens. 
We're  wurrking  at  et  noight  and  daay,  aiid 
England's  as  dead  as  Terrence  Mulligan's  pig 
whin  his  dog  ate  the  bacon. 

"Did  ye  taake  note  of  what  bitther  cauld 
weather  they  had  in  England  laast  whither? 
Ye  did?  Well,  now,  that  all  shows  that  the 
circle  has  bin  wurrking;  that  the  schaame  is 
aUroight." 


AND  A  FEW  FI£S.  193 

"I  don't  quite  understand  yon,"  said  the 
New  Reporter,  trying  to  make  notes  unob- 
served on  his  cuffs  underneath  the  table.  "I 
thought  it  was  unusually  cold  everywhere  last 
winter.  I'm  sure  it  was  in  New  York." 

"Yer  roight  there,  sor,  but  hist — next  win- 
ther  England  will  have  et  more  bitther  cauld 
than  she  niver  knew  before,  and  why?  Be- 
kase,  we're  frazing  bludy  England  to  death!" 

The  walking  delegate  drew  back  to  watch 
the  effect  of  his  announcement,  while  the  New 
Reporter  actually  shivered  with  mingled  ex- 
citement and  sympathy. 

"Freezing  up  England?"  he  repeated. 

"Jist  so,"  replied  the  walking  delegate. 
"Framing  her  to  death.  How  are  we  doing  it, 
ye'll  be  afther  askin'.  Look  ye  here,  now. 
Ye  knaw  av  coorse,  that  England  wud  be  as 
cauld  as  Graneland  if  it  warn't  for  wan  thing 
— the  Goolf  Straame.  The  man  that  t'ot  out 
this  schame  tauld  the  circles  that  this  Goolf 
Straame  was  a  river  of  biling  hot  wather,  that 
pours  out  of  South  Amerikay  or  Bingal,  or 
one  of  thim  hot  counthries  down  there,  and 
that  kapes  right  along  the  bed  of  the  salt  say 
ocean,  until  it  raches  England.  He  tould 
us,  too,  that  before  the  wather  got  hot  loike 
that,  England  was  jist  a  big  caake  of  ice,  weth 
nothin'  livin'  on  et  but  thim  white  bears, 
same  as  ye  see  out  in  Cintral  Park.  Now, 
thin,  says  this  cliver  mon,  all  ye  have  to  do  is 
to  turn  off  the  hot  wather  from  England,  and, 
begorra,  she'll  go  right  back  to  thim  ice  days, 
and  ivry  livin'  t'ing  will  fraze  up  as  hard  as 


194  8E  YEN  SMILES 

St.  Pathrick's  heart  whin  he  had  thelast  shnaake 
shet  up  in  his  chist. 

"  'Aisy  sed,'  says  some  wan  of  the  circles, 
'but  how'll  we  turn  oil'  the  hot  wather?' 

"  'Build  a  dam  across  the  Goolf  Straame,' 
says  the  cliver  mon. 

"  'Aisy  sed,  agin,'  says  that  saame  wan  of 
thim  circles  that  hed  shpoke  before,  'but  how'll 
we  build  a  wall  acrass  a  straame  that's  down  at 
the  bottom  of  the  salt  say  ocean?'  Thin  this 
larnid  schamer — and  you'd  know  him  roight 
away  ef  I'd  only  give  ye  the  first  letther  of  his 
name — tould  us  he'd  make  wan  of  thim  diving 
bell  t'ings.  to  carry  down  the  brecks  and  min 
and  simmint  and  ladders.  And  begorra  he 
ded,  and  last  Octhober  we  staarted  the  wall. 
By  the  tiff  of  Novimber  we  had  twinty  t'ou- 
sand  brecks  down  and  the  wather  was  begin- 
ning to  turn  out  to  the  southwist;  and  by  the 
ind  of  Novirnber  there  was  forty-foive  t'ou- 
sand  brecks  in  place,  and  the  strame  on  the 
other  soideof  the  wall  Avas  thot  cauld  thot  the 
masons  cud  only  shtand  in  et  paart  of  the 
marnen.  Thin  the  wurrk  wus  stopped." 

"On  account  of  the  weather,  1  suppose?" 
said  the  New  Reporter,  pushing  up  his  cuffs, 
so  that  the  notes  might  not  be  seen. 

"No,  indade,"  said  the  walking  delegate. 
"It's  moighty  little  the  b'ys  knew  about  the 
weather,  laying  breck  down  there  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  salt  say  ocean.  The  trut'  is  the 
brecks  gave  out.  The  b'ys  was  all  patriots 
to  the  backbone,  and  not  a  hod  carrier  nor  a 
bell  boy  iver  tuk  a  ciut.  But  ye  see  it  tuk 


'  AND  A  FEW  FIBS.  195 

thot  much  of  our  funds  to  git  the  staamer  and 
diving  t'ings  that  we  cud  only  buy  a  shipload 
of  breck,  for  et's  a  peculiar  koind  of  Hacken- 
sak  breck  thot  we  have  to  use,  and  the  inon 
that  owns  the  yarrd  es  a  Dootchman,  and  we 
daren't  trust  him,  and  he  ses  he'll  be  dom'd 
ef  he'll  trust  us.  So  there  ye  are.  We're 
takin'  up  subscreptions,  but  'tes  slow  wurrk, 
slow  wurrk,  sor." 

"Well,"  said  the  New  Reporter,  "I  have 
eighty-five  cents  here,  which  are  entirely  at 
your  disposal.  It'll  buy  a  brick,  at  any  rate." 

"No,"  said  the  walking  delegate,  with  great 
seriousness,  "it  will  buy  jist  foive  brecks,  sor, 
and  if  ivry  frind  of  the  cause  was  to  come  up 
ayqually  handsome  we'd  have  the  wall  built  plum 
acrass  the  Goolf  Straame,  all  the  hot  wather 
shet  off  from  England,  and  ivry  man  jack  in 
et  froze  dead  stiff  by  the  first  of  next  April." 


THE  END. 


A    000027136 


